#inspired off that one all roads panel

[bakedbeanz]

King of Vegas got a nice view, don't he?

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Ghostbuster. || kidnapper!Simon "Ghost" Riley

[ FIC MASTERLIST ] || [ CHAPTER 2 -> ]

Rating: M + Dark Fic + DDNE Words: 4.2k~ Pairing: Serial Killer!Reader x Serial Kidnapper!Ghost CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dark fic, serial killing, serial kidnapping, torture, body disposal, death, murder (purposeful), murder (accidental), mentions of rape? (neither Simon nor reader rapes anyone!!!!!), blood, knife/weapons, gross abandoned buildings, police verbage. tags: dark fic, serial killer AU, no smut (for now), OOC Simon, you/your pronouns, afab!reader, reader & simon terrorizing the city of Manchester, Manchester geography/accuracy?. a/n: fully inspired by the post below, by @moongreenlight ; also fully a gift for @superhero-landing

"This marks the 7th body found in the Greater Manchester area in the last 6 months."

It's dark outside. Eerily so. Probably because, although the moon is high in the sky, full and bright, plenty of clouds hide it from view. The weather forecast speaks of heavy rains for the next few weeks, but you got lucky... It's not currently raining. It leaves the night feeling weirdly still and quiet, the roads long empty after people retreated into their homes after work.

But not you. Never you.

You turn your head to peer at the old box TV in the room over your shoulder, your eyes narrowed in on the screen where the news anchor talks about the police investigation at hand.

"The victim, a 24-year-old university student, residing in Wythenshawe, had been reported missing last month, on the 18th, after having not come home after a nightout with friends."

The old shop is dark too, barely illuminated by a camping lantern you've brought inside when you first broke in. The air is stale, almost unbreathable from all the dust; the floor, and counters caked in a layer of dried particles, courtesy of the decades' long abandonment the shop has suffered, as well as the ceiling panels having come loose, knocking down concrete dust all over the shop.

Shaking your head, you carefully click your tongue in displeasure, while you clean the tool in your hand with a rag, keeping your eyes and ears still honed into the broadcast. "Poor thing." You comment to yourself.

Your head slumps forward to reach your arm, and you rub the underside of your nose with the back of your hand and forearm, sniffling a bit to clean some of the snot dribbling down your nostrils due to the overly dusty air.

"The Great Manchester Police HQ has issued a warning on the brutality of the recent string of murders and their commitment to find the people responsible. The Police Chief urges that anyone who might have any information to please come forth."

Sighing, you turn your head away again, as the news anchor drones on about the funeral for the young girl who was just found. You step away toward the array of tools displayed, for your convenience, on one of the old counters, laid neatly across a black tool roll bag and carefully set the knife atop it.

The shop smells. It's not entirely unpleasant, but you've gotten used to it either way. You're pretty sure if you weren't, it'd smell horrendous, like it did in the beginning. Stale, dusty air, old blood caked into the gashes and knife cuts on the wooden countertops, tools that were abandoned and grew colonies of bacteria after enough time went past, old vent systems that haven't been cleaned, meat display cases that didn't get disinfected before the butcher shop went out of business.

Tossing the rag aside, atop the butcher's block countertop, you run a finger over the wristband of your black cooking gloves, the latex feeling sticky and damp due to the fresh blood caked onto it. Turning on your heel, you return to the center of the room and look down at the body slumped on the chair before you.

"That guy is a fucking sicko, isn't he?" You complain and crouch before the man tied to the chair, raising his bruised and bloodied face by gripping him around the chin.

The man before you looks like the rest of them, balding and with a 5-o'clock shadow of a beard. He was greying as well, as most of them tend to be. Old, perverted bastards... He's slowly paling before your eyes, the blood slipping down his abdomen, soaking through his clothes and flowing onto the drain below his rickety chair.

"You know, you've gotta be a particularly... Nasty bastard to kill women that young... To bathe and redress them post-mortem..." You trail off. The man before you doesn't reply. He looks groggy and languid, blinking irregularly, and his chest heaving. Barely aware of anything as his life, much like his blood, drains from him.

It's almost poetic to watch his blood stain the white tile of the backroom of the shop, the walls lined with racks and hooks meant to, in the past, hang carcasses from... Almost like this old cooler room is finally fulfilling its role again, to cool and drain a dead body of its blood, all of it flowing down the incline toward the drain...

"I believe I saw in a few Criminal Minds episodes that those types that... clean them afterward feel 'regret' for what they did." You shake your head and kiss your teeth in annoyance.

"They feel regret after it's done, but not while they do it. 'es it mean they gain a conscience after the fact?" You ask him. "Monsters, the lot of them..." You chide and scoff, letting go of the man's face.

Then, you smirk as you notice his breathing get shallower, his head going a bit more limp, hanging low, his chin pressing over to his chest. Leaning forward, you bring your mouth close to his ear, your lips almost grazing his ear. "Don't worry, I won't clean you up once I'm done."

-

Sitting in your dark bedroom, you lounge back lazily on your desk chair, chewing some bubblegum and tapping away at your mouse before scrolling down a forum page.

The room, much like the rest of your flat is dark, only illuminated by the bright blue-toned light emanating from your computer screen, even in dark mode.

The best part of the internet age is the fact people share, comment and gossip about everything. It makes your research so much easier. Though, you suppose it's human nature... to be curious and gossipy. Social creatures and such.

Clicking on one of the posts on the subreddit r/ManchesterCrime, you skim through the post, where the OP is mentioning how they live nearby to the location where the new body was dumped: the southside of Manley Park.

Grabbing your pink fuzzy-top pen and a couple of highlighter markers, you get up from your desk chair and lean over your desk to the corkboard hanging behind it.

You take your writing materials to the printed map of the Greater Manchester area which you had pinned to the cork slab, tracing the information you have so far:

Resident of Wythenshawe.

Captured somewhere between The Three Pigeons and home.

Dumped in Manley Park.

You set down your pens and grab some pink wool string and a couple more pins, using them to rig up a new line to connect the dots over the map.

Taking a step back, you look up at the map and sighed, shaking your head, feeling anger flowing through your veins.

You have been trying to figure out the killer's area of operation for months... Trying to triangulate it, find a pattern...

But nothing.

No convergence point for the lines; no silly little connect-the-dots shape being formed; no secret message being shared... Or maybe there is and you just suck at reading it.

So far, all you have is 7 pieces of string of different colors... 7 victims. All over Manchester, with no overlay.

Just... 7 young girls taken for weeks at a time, killed and then dumped like rubbish.

Has he been taking them to different secondary locations all over the city before slaughtering them?

Has he been driving about, passing by schools and homes and banks and shops, on his way to the dump sites... with a body in his car?

Allegedly, they were all bathed and redressed, with no signs of sexual trauma or abuse, other than a stark loss of weight and some rope burn around the wrists and ankles...

But who really knows?

You are no PI or constable, just a sleuth. Whatever information you have, you got from the internet and from the news... You have no way to be sure of anything.

It angers you to imagine what he had been doing to those poor girls while keeping them to himself.

The poor, terrified girls... someone's sister, someone's daughter, someone's girlfriend, someone's friend... And he had been plucking them from their mundane, safe lives and murdering them?

Throwing yourself back down onto your chair, you stack your fingers together, elbows on the armrests, and swiveled side to side as you looked at the corkboard map.

You hate men like this.

Predators.

Taking and hurting and killing with no issue or hesitation... Sure, psychologists might allege that he feels regret and expresses it by caring for them after death... But you disagree with that interpretation.

You've never met a man who regrets hurting a woman.

-

It's almost funny how easy it was to play with a man's emotions.

They see a pretty face marred by running mascara and red, swollen tear-filled eyes, holding a thumb out for a ride on the side of the road, and they always stop.

From then on, you can just spin whatever sob story about needing a ride...

Men love to play the hero... and oh, how idiotic they are.

They always let you in, and within an hour you have a new warm body to tie up and toy with.

In a way, you are actually surprised by how long you've been able to get away with this for.

You're secretly thankful your murders have not been given any attention so far.

You suppose that's one thing you could thank that... killer for.

You hate how the internet had given him a name already:

The Ghost

because someone allegedly witnessed him dumping a body in Heaton Park, and then vanished into the shadows of the night like a spectre.

Don't they know what happens when they give these types killers nicknames?

How that embiggens and emboldens them?

Have they never watched a true crime show? Or even a fictional one?

But... regardless... as long as young women are being slaughtered by a maniacal monster of a man, and, therefore, kept in the eyes of the world... No one is going to notice the missing middle-aged men you'd been consistently murdering for the better part of 3 years.

Yet another way where men have the upper hand over women. Lady killers just don't get taken as seriously.

You think of that as you watch the body disappear under the water, the cinder blocks you had tied to his feet dragging him under.

You wait a few minutes after his bald head vanishes from view, making sure it doesn't re-emerge, your hands tucked into the pockets of your parka, dead leaves crushed under your hiking boots.

-

Another body; the 8th one.

This one got dumped much quicker.

A 26-year-old till clerk at a Tesco had been reported missing only 36 hours before her body got found.

The news spoke about the incident and the GMPHQ deemed it a separate occurrence. An accident. The girl had been a Type 1 diabetic and seemed to have had a fatal sugar crash.

But you know it has to have been 'The Ghost'.

You don't know why. But you can just tell.

And, for the first time, as you draw up the line over the map, to signal where she got picked up and where she got dumped... there's an overlay.

The pick-up site, somewhere between her job, and her home... and the dumpsite.. Alexandra Park, near Oldham. Both those locations were mere minutes away from where the second victim had been picked up months ago.

Has he gotten sloppy?

Has her sudden death thrown a wrench in his plans and caused him to panic and pick somewhere nearby?

Your eyebrows twitch and a smirk takes over your lips as you finally find something you can exploit.

"Got you, you fuckin' knob'ead." You say and can't help the proud chuckle that escapes your mouth.

-

Simon's pissed off.

He feels like shit after having gotten that girl killed on his watch.

Not that he hadn't gotten the other ones killed either, but this one had truly been an accident.

Between the stress and the fear, her blood sugar had dropped and Simon hadn't noticed before he left the house to pop to the shops and get them both some food.

And by the time he got back and made her dinner, she was just... gone.

It startled him.

Startled him more than when the other ones died.

While looking in her purse for a justification as to why she passed... like any medication he failed to give her, he found the insulin pen and the sugar monitor.

So now, here he is. Back on the street. Back on the prowl. With 8 accidental kills under his belt and a desperate need to fix his streak.

He drives aimlessly. It's a Saturday night and Simon was sure he was going to find some young, vulnerable girl wandering about and stumbling over her own feet, too drunk or high to even walk in a straight line without stumbling or having to lean on street lamps and walls for support.

He hates seeing girls in that state. Young, vulnerable, alone... Left to be preyed upon by some creep in the shadows... Their support systems having failed them...

What kind of friend leaves a drunk girl to find her way home alone when she can barely stand?

What kind of manager lets an employee walk home after dark?

What kind of parent, or sibling, lets a girl walk home from the bus terminal during a storm?

And then they wonder why girls get raped or murdered senselessly by dirty bastards in back alleys.

That only happens because no one protects these vulnerable girls.

They protect them as children, but not as adults? What kind of world does such a thing?

Probably the same world that misinterprets his actions as senseless killing.

He's not a killer.

He's... just very bad at taking care of the girls he... 'helps'...

He never means to hurt them. He's no monster. He just wants to protect them.

-

For once it's actually raining. Heavily so. The water has soaked through the slinky mini skirt and spaghetti strap top you're wearing, your heels are open-toed and slippery, and each step you take feels like you're about to fall face-first into the mud.

You've had your arm out-stretched and your thumb up for the better part of an hour, trying to flag down any car driving past, only to get no luck.

You're at your wits' end, and so so close to calling it a night and trying to stop baiting a driver into taking you in. It's that bad tonight. You can't seem to reel anything in.

The cold wind nips at the exposed skin on your arms and legs, and you know well you'll spend the next week in bed with the nastiest cold of your life.

A car zooms past you as you walk and show your thumb, only to groan and protest when it doesn't stop...

But it does slow down to a stop not far ahead of you, having turned on its blinkers after spotting your outstretched arm and thumb up.

Rushing over to it, you stumble a few times and trip and slip with your heels on the wet tar of the road, before you come up to the passenger side door.

Look in the window, you find a young-ish looking bloke behind the wheel, looking at you with concerned eyes and knitted brows. He leans over and pops the door open for you.

"Get in, get in!" He tells you urgently when he notices you shivering like a wet dog in the rain.

Climbing inside the car carefully, you close the door behind you, hearing how the rain and wind turn muffled once you do.

It's surprisingly clean inside, the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror smelling of pine. It's also warm, so warm, the heater running at max temp and making the car so much more cosy.

"Oh my God, thank you so much for stopping!" You whine, forcing yourself to sniffle and hiccup as tears pour down your face. They're fake ones, warranted by you watching a handful of soldier-coming-home videos on youtube and using some menthol-infused stick in your undereye.

"You alright, sweet'eart?" The man asks as he looks at you with worried eyes. "Are you all alone out here?" He asks and glances out of the window.

He's younger than most of the men you usually bait out, but he'll do. He's also... more handsome than most of them too. Long, prominent nose, a long jaw and chin, pouty pink lips, and the biggest brown eyes, not to mention a crew cut worth of blonde hair.

"Yeah..." You sniffle. "My boyfriend he... we were coming back from a birthday party and we... he... we were arguing and he tossed me out of the car and... and...!" You explain. The practiced lie slips through your teeth quickly. It's been used on about 7 of the 20 or so men you've wiped off the map, and you say it as if you truly believe it, which helps sell it.

You also stumble over your words, as if you're starting to choke up, to make sure you sound even more distraught. Men love when you're hyperventilating.

"Alright, it's alright-!" He tries to reassure you and sets a hand on your shoulder. "God, you're freezing. How long have you been out there?" He asks you, concerned.

"I- I don't know! An hour?" You answer with a whine, your lip quivering as more sobs rack your body.

Your eyes are sharp, though. You're noting his every movement. How he quickly pulls away from the backrest of his seat and shrugs off his coat and wraps it around your bare shoulders. "Here. It's alright. You're alright."

You continue softly sniffling, tucking your legs to the side toward the door, while hiding your face in your hand.

"Where can I take you?" The blond man asks gently as he glances at you and slowly leans closer, resting an arm on the steering wheel, the other on the centre console.

"I don't... I don't know..." You whine and sniffle. "I can't... I can't go home... I can't face him right now..." You trail off. "I can't believe he'd toss me out of the car like that...!"

"Well, I'm sorry to say, love, but he sounds like a right knob'ead." He says and carefully pats you on the shoulder. "How about I take you to the bus terminal? Or the station?"

"I don't know...!" You whimper. "He took my things with him... I can't even buy a ticket home to my mum..." You hiccup and try to clean the tears off the corner of your eyes.

He's handsome, he speaks calmly, hasn't tried to touch you longer than simply patting you for reassurance, and even gave you his jacket... You almost feel bad about doing this to him. Almost.

"Tell you wha'." The bloke says as he leans a bit closer, tilting his head to look at you in the eye. "I'll take you to the bus terminal and give you a couple more pounds so you can call your family or a friend to come get you, yeah?"

Sniffling, you shake your head. "No... you're already... doing so much! I can't... I can't even pay you back!" You add.

You really should earn an Oscar for this performance. The damsel in distress who's actually such a good girl that she doesn't want to impose on this man's money or take too much of his help.

"Don't worry about any of that." He tells you and waves his hand to dismiss the point, before leaning over and fixing the direction of the air vents on the dash, making sure they point at you to keep you warm. "You don't have to pay me back, alright?"

Nodding a bit, you try to stop crying and rub your eyes with your hands, causing an even bigger mess within your make-up, your fingers now also stained with mascara.

"Here. It's alright. No need to cry anymore." The driver says affectionately as he offers you a tissue from a pack, before he shifts in his seat and starts driving forward.

-

Simon watches you out of the corner of his eye as he drives. Poor little thing, all alone, abandoned by her boyfriend, left on the side of the road...

It's like the universe had handed you to him on a silver platter. He couldn't not take you in! And, this time, he's not going to let anything happen to you.

He's not risking it.

And so of course he's going to soothe you, to calm you down, you, the poor little thing, that got left on a side road by your awful boyfriend, like a stray cat no one wants to feed...

That's the thought in his head as he drives down the wet roads, the windshield wipers working overtime to beat the pouring rain that decided to attack the city of Manchester even more aggressively than usual.

Simon glances at you out of the corner of his eye every few minutes, making sure to drive carefully and steadily, and trying to spot the look in your face as he does.

You still seem stressed, frazzled, worried. The tears haven't stopped despite your breathing having settled...

He wonders if you've had anything to drink. You're definitely not drunk, but the amount of tears... maybe tipsy?

Maybe you won't even need to be threatened. You'll just... let him take you into his house, gently guide you into the bathroom and let you wash off the mud and rain...

He'll give you clothes, and food, and let you watch tv with him... And he'll keep you warm and safe, like everyone in your life has failed to, that got you to the moment you were now in...

Alone.

Afraid.

Abandoned.

He wants to tell you not to worry, that he's here now... But he holds his tongue. You'll hear it later.

-

"You should've kept going forward instead of turning right..." You say aloud, forcing your voice to still sound soft and meek, as you look out of the window.

You've been driving for a while. You've kept your head low, enjoying the warmth coming from the A/C, which helps with the genuine cold wetness of the rain that settled on your skin and bones.

You're not stupid. You know the way to the bus terminal and to all the train stations in the area...

He's not taking you to either. In fact, you're pretty sure you've taken 3 rights in the last 5 minutes, and are, in short, going back the way you came.

"Sorry. It's easy to get turned around with this rain, I'll go back to the main road." He replies. His tone apologetic, and his brow scrunched in concern... But his eyes... his eyes are hard.

It sends a tingle down your spine. For once, you actually baited out a man that has nasty intentions with you.

Had he not tried to do that, you would've considered letting him live... But no, of course, he's actually a creep...

What a shame... He's actually kind of cute. In a blue collar sort of way.

It gives you some weird sense of satisfaction, the realization in the back of your mind that you might have succeeded... that you might have bated him out... The Ghost.

Your hand carefully slips into the left side of the waistband of your slinky skirt, the side closest to the door, so he can't see, your fingers already wrapping around the handle of your pistol.

Your eyes remain on the street, the road, keeping an eye out as he returns to the main road and goes back over the area he has just driven past. A closed down shop, the post office...

And you wait.

You wait patiently for the next time he tries to turn right and put you back on course toward the area you had triangulated for The Ghost to live in or work out of...

And he does. He does just that.

Within a minute, he turns right again...

And you don't hesitate.

Your fingers tighten around the pistol handle and you rip it off the confines of your skirt, your arm hurling itself toward him, steadily pressing the barrel to his temple...

Only for you to notice his arm moving sharply at the same time and, you're suddenly staring down the barrel of a gun as well.

His eyes are wide, his brown irises nearly invisible from how wide his pupils are blown and he stops the car suddenly with a hard brake that jostles you both forward.

Looking each other in the eye, over the top of both your pistols, you can't help but feel a rush of adrenaline through your veins.

The look of surprise, confusion and pure dread painted in his features, the way his brows knit together and furrow in displeasure, his lips already twisted into a scowl...

It's a sickly sweet pleasure, to spot the way that, just like the other ones, he's scared of your pistol... It's likely his first time... But an unfamiliar warmth forms in your tummy as you stare down his pistol too... It's also your first time...

"Well, well, well... Would you look at that?" You quip as a smirk takes over your lips. "Looks like I've busted myself a Ghost."

You don't miss the way his brows go from concerned and fearful to dropping low onto his eyelids, and his jaw clenches in disgust.

Got him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

From Away 1

Warnings: this series will include dark elements which may include noncon or dubcon and other untagged triggers. Mind the warnings.

Summary: you apply for a job with a rather eccentric boss.

Character: Harald Halfdansson

Big thanks to those who read! Feedback always helps inspire and you know I’m always happy to chat about possibilities! Please reblog and comment ❤️

Courtesy tag: @alicedopey

For a country built forged in centuries, everything feels so sparkly and new to you. A new home, a new world, at least for a while. It is all so splendid and wonderful. And expensive.

So it is that you head off with a fold in hand and your purse bouncing against your hip. You have a job interview. A very interesting one though the commute promises more than enough time to prepare. Rather, to overthink.

You can’t complain. It sounds like an interesting opportunity. A dream job you couldn’t hope for back home. There weren’t any historical sites that popular to require excessive staff.

You stand at the stop just outside your building. You need to catch a connection at the downtown center and another in an area you’ve never been before. After that, there’s a bit of a walk but you could use a reason to exercise.

The bus pulls up and you smile at the driver as you scan your pass. You find a seat though it isn’t hard. Most are empty this early in the morning. You hug your bag in your lap and watch the streets pass by as the driver chugs along, stopping and starting until your reach the core of the old city.

You nearly miss your transfer and sit breathless on the second bus, measuring your heartbeat until it’s calm again. The close you get, the worse your nerves are. The last interview you had was for this very opportunity. Just to go on exchange, you had to sit in front of a panel and answer questions about why and how and so many things. You can do it, right?

The third bus takes you into the hills, lush green against the grey blue sky, some rocky peaks in the distance. The landscape here is rich and varying. Back home, you can find a similar spectrum of backdrops but the distance in between is vast.

Last stop on the route before it circles around and you get off with a thanks to the driver. You step onto the gravel apron of the back road and check your phone. You don’t have a signal up here but you have the directions saved. Just in case. You follow the steps up towards your destination. It’s not easy to miss as the old fortress stands sentinel at the top of the jutting incline.

Kastali Castle. A bit redundant upon translation; ‘Castle Castle’. In your research, you discovered that the fort was built on a millenial foundation of an old viking village, since updated over the centuries by warlords and kings, and burnt many times over by invaders. You shuffle through the history in your head, trying to sort the timeline as you approach the low stone barrier along the lower tier of the property.

The gate is open. On the other side, sheep graze lazily across the grass. You’ve learned since your arrival that the creatures have free reign of the countryside. They may eat and wander where they might. You stop to fawn at a younger lamb. The animals can be a bit ornery but they’re cute.

You turn back, looking up at the high foundations and carry on along the steep path. As you get to the large wooden door that would let you through the tall inner walls, you hesitate. You can’t just let yourself in but you don’t know where to go. You check your phone, thinking to call the number in the email but your bars are still empty.

“Invaders, ho!” A holler breaks the earthly hue and you step back to look up at where the voice erupted from. There’s a figure above you, so high you have to crane your neck painfully. You continue to back up until you can see the man above. “Are you lost, fair maiden? Or do you come upon a quest?”

You blink, nearly giggling at his flowery way of speaking. His accent lilts his words peculiarly.

“Um, I have an interview,” you yell back up, the effort making your throat thrum. You’re not much for raising your voice. “With, er,” you look down at your phone. You hadn’t saved the email.

“Harald,” he calls back down, “yes, he is expecting you.”

The man disappears and you stare up into the sky after him. You can hear creaking and cracking then silence. You lower your head and look straight ahead, waiting. The arched door opens with a long whine and the same man appears before you, his cheeks slightly flushed as he gives a crooked grin. His weathered skin is marked with blue black ink along one side of his face. A nordic symbol you can’t decipher.

“It is I, Harald,” he offers his hand, “the keeper of Kastali.”

“Oh, uh,” you shake his hand and give your name in return.

“Lovely name, lovely,” he squeezes before he lets you go, “and a curious accent I here. American? No, no, speak for me again.”

You blink at him dumbly, “um, okay, I don’t know what to say, sir.”

“Irish,” he jabs his finger into the air. “I hear the twang.”

“No, sir,” you laugh, “Canadian.”

“Ah, the great north,” he booms, “yes, I see. Forgive my assumptions.”

“It’s okay,” you grip your bag and shift your weight nervously. “Thank you for the interview, sir, this place is really cool.”

“Interview?” He squints, “is that what I said? No, no, you’re hired.”

“What?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have time for an interview,” he shakes his head, “I need help. Forthwith.”

“Oh, right, maybe I misread--”

“Let’s forget that, unless...” his brows rise and his forehead lines, “you do not want the job?”

“No, no, I do,” you assure him, “I just wasn’t expecting to start today.”

“Yes, you are not dressed well for chasing away Gustav.”

“Gustav?” You echo.

“You will know him. He is a dark cloud on this place. If you do run into him, well, run in the other direction,” he girds, “well then,” he moves to stand with his back to the door, holding it open, “let’s begin with the tour, the we will worry about all else.”

“Oh, sure, um, right. Cool,” you pass through the door and he eases the door shut behind him. As the old brass latch clanks, you wince.

“Wow,” you look around at the interior walls, “it’s so big. It must be a lot of work. How many people work here?”

He laughs heartily and claps his hand on his chest, “just me. Well, you too, now.”

“Just you?” You gape over at him. It’s only then your notice that his hair is much longer than you thought. It hangs, bounded in golden hoops, down his back, much like an ancient warrior fashion.

“The king of my own castle,” he winks over at you, “let’s not waste any more time. We have much to do.”

[sailtomarina]

Please don't

Five years, six months, two weeks, and three days had passed since Hermione had started work at the Ministry. 

She thought she was being so noble when she opted out of taking her NEWTs and accepted Kingsley Shacklebot’s offer to hop into the workforce immediately following the war. The boys had both gone to the DMLE, their adrenaline from fighting still running high. She went towards the DRCMC, hoping to continue on her long held dream to help others.

It was a decision she regretted almost every day since.

She didn’t regret her reasons—of course she wanted to champion rights for all magical beings. There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t look back on Remus Lupin for inspiration. She just hadn’t banked on the road being so heavily blockaded by the very same prejudices she’d fought so hard against. The statue in the entrance might look pretty, but it was a lie.

The truth was that she had made very little progress. Her first focus had been on House Elves, then Werewolves, and currently Centaurs. It had been five years, and not a single proposal she’d written had made it past the initial planning stages.

Hermione was done.

No more fieldwork in remote locations on short notice. No more sidetracking her with magical creatures whose case files were oddly sparse in detail. No more listening to her superior hemming and hawing over her ideas, only to deny them.

She held her resignation letter in her hand, back straight and chin up. If she couldn’t do what she had always dreamed of doing at the Ministry, then she would go somewhere where she could.

“I pity the fool who has to face you with that expression.”  

Hermione scowled as she lamented the fact that coming in as early as possible still hadn’t helped. It was exactly her brand of luck to bump into Malfoy of all people.

“Yes, well, they’ll only have to bear with me this one last time,” she said bitterly. 

He followed her into the elevator and she realized with continued annoyance that they were alone.

“Level four,” she barked, still refusing to look up at him.

“I know.”

She stared resolutely at the golden doors, willing them to open up to her floor.

Please don’t talk.

“What do you mean by ‘one last time’?”

Nosy git.

“I mean exactly that. I’m leaving the Ministry and finding a place where I’m actually wanted and what I do matters.”

“You don’t think what you do here matters?”

His follow-up question had her peering up in irritation. “Are you going to take everything I say and turn it into a question?”

Malfoy turned to fully face her, his back to the button panel, and leveled her with his cool grey gaze.

Hermione didn’t see him often in the building—for all she knew, he didn’t even need to work. The Malfoy wealth had withstood the ravages of war just fine, and the family had even donated substantial amounts in reparations as part of their sentencing. Other than filling his family’s seat on the Wizengamot, Hermione wasn’t sure what purpose his presence served other than starting her morning off on another terrible foot.

“I only ask because I am concerned.” 

His expression remained somber and Hermione realized with a healthy amount of shock that he was serious.

“But, why?”

Hermione was so aghast that not only did she not even notice that the elevator wasn’t moving and never had been; she didn’t realize Malfoy had positioned himself to purposefully block any moves for the control panel.

“I’m concerned because I think without you there will be very little movement towards true progress otherwise.”

His eyes searched hers and she stood there, trying to absorb his words. Objectively, she thought it was a very nice thing for him to say. Realistically, she felt burdened by the expectations it laid upon her.

“I’m not a packhorse, Malfoy.”

If he was bothered by her retort, he didn’t show it. He simply shifted in place, then started twirling his wand between his fingers.

“No,” he agreed, “but you are a symbol, whether you want to be or not. And please don’t take my observations as attempting to influence your decision in any way.”

“Why not? Lucius would have.”

He flinched at his father’s name, and she felt a twinge of remorse.

“Father likely would have, yes, but I am not him.”

His fingers had stopped moving and he now held his wand awkwardly at his side, tapping his thigh.

Tapping. Rhythm. Time.

They had been in this elevator for entirely too long.

Hermione looked above the doors in alarm and realized they were still on the Atrium level.

“Malfoy! I asked you to hit my floor!”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I distinctly recall doing so!”

“You told me your floor, yes, but you did not ask me to push it for you.”

She gaped at him.

He tilted his head and smiled.

Hermione lunged around him to try and hit the button, but he smoothly sidestepped to intercept her. She met with the warm, very firm, wall that was his chest, and it was only his hands on her hips that prevented her from toppling over.

“Unhand me, you, you—”

He gently pushed her back to standing and removed his hands, holding them up in supplication. “If you’re looking for some monstrous name to call me, might I suggest ‘dragon’?”

“Ferret.”

He rolled his eyes at the juvenile moniker, and she flushed in embarrassment.

“Look, Granger, I only kept you here because you looked like you could use a listening ear.” He raised a hand as she opened her mouth to interject, and she stopped. “I also wanted you to know that I’ve been waiting every day for one of your proposals to come through. I’ve read several of your publications and fully support everything you’ve been fighting for.”

She couldn’t help the way her jaw dropped at his confessions. Draco Malfoy had been tracking her work?

“Given that I haven’t even heard a whisper over the past five and a half years from your department, I believe it’s safe to assume that the blockade is intentional.”

She hated hearing the truth she’d already come to accept for herself from someone else’s mouth.

“I’m going to turn around and press your level now, but before I do, I want to offer my own proposal.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the man who had so easily derailed her plans, allowing herself to fully appreciate the sight before her. The signature icy blond locks were swept away from his face in an effortless look belying their perfect placement. Grey eyes, darkened with intent, bored into her willing her to listen. He stood a good foot taller than her, but his height and broad shoulders could still move incredibly quickly as her recent experience had proven.

“I’m listening.”

“Take on my family as a client and I will ensure that you get all the materials and personnel that you need to build a case that you will not only win, but will set you up to tackle even bigger projects in the future.”

“By take on your family, you mean…”

“House Elves, Granger.”

Dobby.

The Malfoys employed one of the largest personal retainers in their household. Hermione knew this from her very first foray into creature rights, but hadn’t been able at the time to pursue that avenue. Hogwarts had seemed the friendlier choice, but, even then, she’d gone nowhere.

“I want to meet them,” she announced. She needed to see the Malfoy Elves firsthand and see if there were others like Dobby. Lucius was no longer around, but who knew the history behind those dreaded walls?

“Come to the Estate this Saturday and stay for supper.” His face remained completely serious.

“This isn’t supposed to be a date, Malfoy. I’m there to see the House Elves, and see them only.”

He chuckled a little at her scathing reply, but explained further, “Staying for supper will allow you to see how they operate around one of their daily routines. You’ll arrive early enough in the afternoon to catalog their other tasks, and can leave immediately following dessert. Unless, that is, you’d like to stay for drinks after?” His voice lilted up at the end and he smiled at her in a manner that others might have labeled charming.

Hermione, however, would not be tricked.

“Fine.”

“Excellent.” With another one of his winning smiles, he turned around and the elevator jolted in movement.

Onward, and upward.

WC 1428

Twitter prompt “Please don’t” from DramionePrompts

Cross-posted on Tumblr and AO3

Just go ahead and ignore the fact that moving from the Atrium on the 8th level to the DRCMC on the 4th level means they’d actually be going down. I also really struggled with this prompt because I wanted to avoid the obvious smutty angles and for something a bit different, then ended up wanting to insert way more story than typical flashfic lengths would allow.

[triplesilverstar]

Well you'd get an answer eventually

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Vash X F!Reader

CW: Smut, Fluff and Smut, Cunnilingus, Grinding, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Mirror Sex, Dirty Talk, Top Vash, Stripping, Strip Tease, Making Out, Tender Sex, Light Angst, Teasing

Word count: Roughly 8.4K words

A/N: You'd wondered about it a few times, why there always seemed to be more people on the move this time of year but it wasn't like you could ask. That would have had everyone looking at you funny since it wasn't a religious holiday or gathering. Maybe your favorite plant man of a boyfriend could clear a few things up for you as to why the solstice seemed important to people and what it was all about.

Alright, I will have to reorder the series once more, but for now, enjoy this lovely holiday smut that was once more inspired by art. I love when people draw Vash looking so certain of his sex appeal with a hint of being cocky. 

Wincing as the bus hit a rut on the road and you bounced on the seat, your sore butt didn’t feel the landing but the almost healed injury in your abdomen felt it. “You alright?” Puffing out your cheeks and letting out a long exhale Vash tried to pat your thigh reassuringly, almost wedged against you. It wasn’t like you could do anything about it stuck between the blond and the inside panel of the bus, the two of you headed for the city of Augusta. 

You and what felt like half of Noman’s land. 

You wouldn’t have minded the bus ride if it had the usual number of passengers but right now it was packed full, so between Vash in the seat next to you and both of your bags in front of you any bump had you in pain. “Tell me we’re almost there?”

“Almost.” Tilting his head in that adorable goofy way you love you close your eyes, trying to breathe through your mouth. Letting out a happy little hmph as Vash discreetly slips his hand into yours, no doubt still upset with himself for letting you take a bullet for him. One of these days your sad handsome plant man was going to have to realize you didn’t want him with more scars than what he already had.

He was right. Then again you were used to him being right when it came to the two of you and traveling together, it was a short fifteen-minute ride until the bus was pulling to the small station inside the city limits. Do your best to hide your discomfort from any of the other passengers as you and Vash disembark from the public transportation and make your way to the first hotel you see. 

The first hotel was a bust, and at the second you have the owner checking a room to see if it’s actually empty or not. In your head checking things off inside your head and you realize it’s near the winter solstice for Noman’s land. Fuck. That might explain why the bus was so full and the hotels seemed to be booked up. The past few years you’ve seen the gathering of people around this time on the planet, but you had no idea what it was for, it wasn’t like you could just up and ask without outing yourself as not having been born on the planet. 

“The room is empty, however, it does only have one bed.” You can see the innkeeper looking back and forth between the two of you almost as if trying to figure out if he needs to find another bed somehow. Or another room. 

“It's no problem!” Vash is quick to wave his hands in a disarming motion while grinning, seeing the relief flood across the innkeeper's face as Vash picks up the pen to start to fill in the register. Glad to have a room you start digging into your wallet for enough to cover the room for the next week, it should be long enough for you and Vash to figure out if the person he’s looking for is still around or not. 

As you approach the room behind the innkeeper, after he hands Vash the key he gives you both a short little wave and a wish. “Enjoy the solstice!” Biting your lip Vash returns the greeting before you both slip inside the room. 

It’s not too small and at least it is a double bed, not that you and Vash haven’t shared smaller ones in the past. At least the table has two chairs and a dresser but not much else, if the two of you need to work out you’re going to have to move the furniture around to do it. Yet as your eyes roam around the room you find it rattling around in your head and ask. “Vash. What’s the big deal with the solstice?” 

Dropping his bag on the floor with a thump he turns to you. “You don’t know?” Tilting your head and sending him a look of annoyance and disbelief, giving the snaps of your bag a flick so it drops with a louder thud and a little cloud of dust billowing up. “Right. You’re not from here and I can see why you couldn’t ask.” Rubbing the back of his head as he doesn’t need to voice the reason why you couldn’t before him. Pulling out a chair and sitting at it you see him rubbing his hands before joining him, his nervousness palatable. “It started out as a celebration for surviving the big fall.” his voice was wistful as those first few words tumbled from his mouth and you reached across the table for his hand. 

A short smile sent your way before he smiled as best he could with the sorrow in his eyes at the remembrance of the past. Of what he sees as his burden to carry. “It was to mark that we had survived a full year on the planet. If we could make one year then we could survive. At least that had been the thought. So as settlements grew and people started traveling so did the celebration, and it started changing. From that, some of the settlers and crews had survived to a celebration of having people to hold on to, a celebration of life.” Giving his hand another squeeze as you see him swallow again, shoving his sorrow back down. “Humanity really is amazing, the solstice is starting to fade a little but the main idea was about being glad to have hands to hold here on a world that humanity was never meant to survive on. To remind the people you care for that you do care for them and to have small little exchanges to show how you appreciate them.” Giving his head a shake and plastering one of those fake smiles he is so used to showing people on his face. 

“I think that’s kind of nice, Vash.” Your free hand reaches across the table to cup his jaw your thumb hooking the edge of his mouth. “No reason to give me a fake smile if it hurts though.” Feeling your brow furrow as you watched him for a few moments as the silence rang out between the two of you. “How come you didn’t say anything about it last year? When we were in the middle of nowhere?” 

“I thought you might have been someone that didn’t celebrate it. It is easy to forget you’re not from around here, Mayfly. Well,” He swallows again and you see a slight flush on his neck. “I also didn’t know if you had anyone you wanted to admit you cared about. You are a little peculiar that way.” His sly remark has you chuckling and looking down at the table with a sappy grin overtaking your face and a warmth spreading across your chest. 

“Oh I did, but I refused to even admit it to myself. I’m glad we sorted it out before too long though and you stuck around with my stubborn ass.” Laughter rings out through the room before the force of it has your abdomen throbbing. 

“Still sore?” Vash’s face shifted to one of concern pulling his hand from yours to drop to his knees beside you and lifting your shirt to show the greenish-yellow hue that paints your skin. 

“Yea. I should probably lay down for a bit to let it finish healing.” Giving his hand a playful swat as you reach for your bag to grab a change of clothes to nap in. “Wanna join me?” A rather seductive wiggle of your eyebrows has him laughing, moving closer to press a quick kiss to your temple. 

“Tempting, but I’m gonna look around the city first. You rest and I’ll be back later my pretty lady.” Giving his butt a playful swat and grinning as he left you changed and slipped into the bed, sighing as the placement of your body has less strain on your injury and it isn’t long before you’re snoring away. 

Vaguely aware of something at the edge of your senses you grumble before turning more into the mass of pillow under your face. Except whatever is making you wake up is rather insentient, feeling your body as it starts to shake and you let out another grumble. “Mayfly.” A warm wash of air along your ear and the tickle of soft fibers has you waking slightly faster, cracking an eye open to see Vash leaning over you with a smirk that makes you think of sin. 

“What?” Your voice is laced with sleep as you mumble the words, letting out a little noise of frustration as his lips glide along your neck. 

“Wake up, I have a surprise for you.” Finally giving in you roll over, dragging a hand down your face before looking at your partner and feeling an eyebrow raise. Now that you have a chance to take a good look at him you find a lecherous grin taking over your face. 

Vash has his jacket removed, and in place of his usual turtle neck that you still don’t understand how he can survive the desert heat with it, he’s in a sleeveless form-fitting shirt that leaves nothing about his physique to the imagination. 

“Any particular reason for this- Oh my.” Slipping his gloved hand under the hem of his shirt you watch as the tight fabric slides upwards, with a slow reveal of his toned and scared stomach. With all that fine skin on display, you can't help but look just below his naval and the blond patch of hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his pants. 

“See something you like?” A hint of playfulness in his tone, and you snort as the cocky bastard as his gloved hand resting on his jaw as if framing it so the shirt is stretched upwards and you have a full view of his chest. It’s a tantalizing sight and you feel warm for a very different reason as your gaze roams his revealed body, it doesn’t matter that you know every scar, wire, and patch of metal keeping your lover whole. It’s a sight you will never tire of seeing. 

“Oh, I sure do.” Finally sitting up your eyes are level with his ribs, hooking your fingering into the band of his pants and giving them a tug. “I’m a little curious as to where my adorable blush-covered plant man is. He’s nowhere near this forward with putting on a show for me.” 

“He’s still here, but his very forward lover has made him realize he needs to up his game.” Still keeping his shirt lifted his prosthetic lands atop your head, the metal tips scraping along the skin under your hair just enough to make you shudder. “Tonight I wanna watch you come undone just for me as I worship every inch of your skin.” 

“Really now?” You tease, lowering your face so you can lick along one of his scars painting his stomach. “Seems more like you want me to worship you with this little show.” You don’t miss the shifting of his muscles as your tongue moves along the ridge of hardened skin. 

“I just know what I need to do to rile you up.” Smirking down at you as you catch his eyes while you move to trace one of the thin lines of wire near his belt, lapping at the edge as if it’s something far more interesting. Giving your eyebrows a small wiggle as you slide your fingers along the inside portion of his waistband under you feel the metal of the button that fastens them. “To get you all hot and bothered so you’ll let me have my way with you.”

“Clearly.” You grin, moving your face closer to his naval with a trail of kisses until the tip of your nose is rubbing against the coarser hairs. “I think, you should be a little more demanding instead.” Placing your lips outside of the straining fabric covering his crotch and you can feel the heat radiating from his cock against your chin. “Telling me how I should be sucking that dick of yours that I can’t get enough of.” Mouthing at the fabric even as your back objects to the awkward angle. 

“I know you can’t get enough of it, that you like it best shoved deep in your mouth with my balls hitting your chin.” Sliding his hand down from the crown of your head to your neck, his thumb pressing against the hollow of your throat. “You seem happiest with drool pouring from the corners of your lips while this.” Gliding his thumb tenderly along the soft skin along the front of your neck as he speaks. “Seems to bulge from my cock pulsing in that lovely wet cavern of yours while your nose is pressed against the bottom of this tantalizing trail.” 

You can’t hide the shuffle of your thighs trying to add a bit of friction to your throbbing clit as you clench at his dirty talk. “Damn Baby. When did you get so good at being dirty?” Taking a deep inhale against his happy trail as you slowly blink up at him, hoping to get a rise out of your flirty lover in the form of a blush or some stuttering words.

“I learned from the best my Mayfly.” Letting out a soft hiss as he places the lightest pressure against the column of your throat. “Now, you’re not getting your way tonight. I needed to make sure you woke up and I had that slit between your legs dripping.” Damn, he really is putting his best foot forward tonight in taking charge. “Now sit up my Mayfly so I can get started.” 

You let out a little ‘hmph’ at being denied but do remove your hands from his body, but not before pressing a sloppy kiss to the space just above his belt buckle. Sitting up on the bed and taking notice of movement out of the corner of your eye, turning to see a full-body mirror near the door. “Vash honey?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head over that for now. Just keep your eyes on me.” Making a show of slipping two of his gloved fingers in his mouth and letting out a moan as he lightly sucked on them before trailing his fingers down his stomach. A thin line of drool connects his tongue to those lovely long digits that breaks just as his hand disappears under the fabric of his shirt. A sway of his hips as he takes a step back from you, followed by another and giving you a sultry wink. 

Tapping his radio on the table that has the radio announcer making a statement about something you don’t catch as Vash’s eyes go wide and he hits another button. The sound of what you can only describe as strip music starts playing from the speaker and you find yourself grinning at your lover and the slight crack in his little display. “Wrong button.” He whispers before blowing you a kiss. “Now where were we?”

“I think you were about to try and give me a strip tease my pretty plant man.” Snapping his fingers at your statement as if he didn’t actually remember what he was up to starting to shift his hips to the music. You know Vash knows how to dance and how to cause a scene, and damn because right now he is putting both together to the sound of the music and you could swear he was lust incarnate with the way he moved. Every slide of his hands along his toned body has your eyes following the movement, and before long your thighs are rubbing together and your lip is starting to hurt. 

“Don’t bruise those Mayfly, I want to be the only one to mark you up tonight.” Blinking rapidly as his words sink in and you stop biting your lip as if you were about to draw blood. His flesh hand ghosted down the center of his chest and over his well-defined abs to the apex of his cloth-covered thighs. Hooking the hem of his shirt and in one fluid movement pulling it up and away from his body and looking at you with flashing blue eyes, the briefest illumination from his plant markings has you letting out a pant as your mouth dries like it’s been in the desert for months. Unlike your mouth, your pussy gives another pulse and a wave of wetness drips from your center. 

With his shirt off he makes a few more twists so the muscles along his arms and back ripple, a low whine echoing around the room. “Oh my, I didn’t know you could make noises like that.” In a flash, he’s leaning into your body his hands on your thighs parting your legs and his chest forcing your own back onto the bed. “I think I enjoyed hearing just how desperate you are, and all because of a little show.” Mouthing at the skin along your neck while his hips jolt against your clothed core and you hear the same noise again, at least this time you’re aware it’s coming from you. 

As his warm lips ascend to catch your own a harder grind has you panting, but Vash doesn’t take advantage of your distraction in the way you suspect with his fingers skiming along your parted thighs to your belly. Hooking the hem of your sleep shirt and yanking it upwards and away as he moves back closer to the table to lower the music while you shudder from the sudden chill, feeling some of your skin pebble. “You have no idea how much I want to rip that bra off you and play with that chest, they fit in my hands so perfectly.”

Finding your voice you try for coy as you adjust the way your body is leaning back against the sheet, spreading your legs and placing a hand just above your clothed sex. “What’s stopping you handsome?” 

A brief chuckle as he grins, sliding his hands down his chest and twisting his hips in time to the music as he grasps his belt buckle and with a flourish unsnaps it and pulls it from his pants. “I know if I get started with them right now I won’t want to stop, and once I get started I don’t want any clothes in the way.” A husk to his voice that you weren’t expecting as his gloved hand slid back up his abs, sweeping to his remaining nipple and circling it with his thumb before moving higher to slip his fingers in his mouth once more. 

Two can play at this teasing game. Keeping your eyes on him as you arch your back to slip one of your hands under you and undo the fastener before flexing the muscles of your tummy to pull you into a sitting position as if at the end of the string in a single graceful motion. You don’t miss the way his hips still as the fabric falls away and you cup both breasts and push them together. “I think they’re a nice sight like this, but you know what would be nicer?” You question with a flirtatious wink sent at him. “Your dick framed between both of them.”

A groan from Vash and you think you see the fabric around his crotch flutter before he’s sucking his fingers with gusto and removing them from his mouth with gusto. “That is a lovely thought but I’d rather my cock framed by your pussy lips than your tits right now.” Closing the distance one more and taking one of your hands from your chest and placing it around the zipper of his pants. “Think you can give me a hand with my pants? They seem to be getting a little tight. ” Licking the shell of your ear as he says the last word and you feel a tingle along your spine as your walls clench around nothing. 

“I think so.” Catching the metal between your thumb and forefinger and slowly tugging it down, the sound of the teeth separating seemingly loud in the small room as you keep looking at each other with heaving chests. If this is the best foreplay you’ve had you don’t know what is, your panties are drenched to the point you can feel it seeping out onto the fabric of your pants. As it comes to the end you hear a happy little groan from him as he kisses the space just behind the shell of your ear. 

“Good girl.” Letting out a squeal as his hands are on your hips and in one fluid motion your pants and underwear are both gone, leaving you bare for his roaming gaze as he tosses both somewhere over his shoulder. “That was for taking my chance to pull your bra off with my teeth away.” A short upward tick of his eyebrows before he makes a show of shimming his hips as his pants slide down his legs, revealing the just as heavily scared tissue of his lower half. The only thing still hidden from sight is his weeping cock, because with the damp strained fabric, you have no doubt his slit is dripping as much fluid as you are.   

With a casual flick of his fingers, the music dies and he strides toward you dropping to his knees at the edge of the bed and planting his lips on your naval with a flutter as he starts to blaze a trail of kisses along your tummy to while his hands glide along the sides of your ribs with his palms facing the words so his knuckles are grazing against your flesh. A strange mixture of cool and hot sensations from the different hands paired with his mouth has you panting in desperation. 

“Vash, please Baby.” Your hands are in his hair, grasping his scalp as you try to pull his lips from your skin. “I need you to touch me!” That low whine is back in your throat once more and you don’t care, your sex is throbbing and his teasing isn’t helping you get to a release at all as your body feels like it’s on fire. 

“I am touching you Mayfly.” He won’t be swayed in his actions, palms turning to press carefully against your body and using his hips to lift you more into the center of the bed as his mouth trails upwards. “I did tell you I planned to worship every inch of your skin tonight.” Jerking your core upwards trying to rub against his clothed erection you cry out in frustration as he laughs against your skin, using his hips to pin you in such a way that your actions are doing nothing to help you chase that sweet release you want.  His mouth keeps moving and you’re starting to believe he has every intention of kissing all over your body, just when you think you might find some relief as he reaches the first of your breasts you cry out once more as he ignores the plump flesh and your hardened nipples. 

Sweeping his tongue along your clavicle as he keeps moving, kissing along the inside of your arm and you notice he’s tracing the lines of your scars as he moves down the limb to your fingers. “Every time I’ve seen these, I wanted to do this. To trace those silvery lines with the tip of my tongue while you writhe and thrash beneath me, to shower you in devotion.” Kissing your knuckles before moving to each joint in your finger before starting to move back up your hand. “Now I finally get to, and it’s even better than I imagined because each little noise you make is sending a line of fire down my back while my heart pounds in my chest. It's beating so fast it almost hurts and my stomach feels like it’s tied in knots. That’s what you do to me, you make me want to have something just for me for the first time in my long life.” 

As frustrated as you are with the pulsing of your core his tender words do make you still for a moment, the reminder that Vash is almost putting the needs and wants of others before his own. Your beautiful, tragic, selfless plant man. “You do Vash. You do make me feel like that Sunshine.” 

A flick of his eyes and a gentle smile sent your way as he repeats the actions to your other arms. “I’m glad. And later, I hope you remember when I have you panting with my cock filling you to the brim while I fuck that hole of yours.” His one-eighty to dirty talk has you reeling but your cunt feels like it is on fire with the throbbing and clenching it’s doing, you need something, anything , inside of it right now. Hopeful as his head descends your body but his hands keep you in place, it’s too much to ask as he just places a quick kiss above your sex before moving down your legs. 

At last, he finishes the path of mapping your body with his mouth, of tracing all your scars as he climbs your body once more until your head is framed between both of his arms as he looks down at you in wonder and lust. The whole time he kissed, licked, and sucked at your skin your hands were free to roam even if he ignored all your insistent tugging to try and get him more where your body wanted him, and now you had them draped across his shoulder with your thumbs pressing into the back of his neck with a slow dragging motion. 

“Sunshine, please.” Panting as your body thrums, you’ve been hovering on the edge for so long and you’re ready to snap searching for any kind of release at this point. You have little doubt that you look like a mess, still trying to writhe under Vash for any kind of friction while your body burns like you’re in an inferno. 

A deep chuckle that you hear and feel as his chest quakes against yours, looking down at you with hooded eyes. “Please what Mayfly?” His teasing is driving you insane as he closes the distance to rub his nose along the ridge of your cheekbone, keeping his lips away from yours. 

“I need to come!” Doing your best to rut up against him while your mouth chases after his and your nails dig into his scalp. “Please, fuck me.” A choked sob as tears of frustration line your eyelids. Another chuckle from Vash, as his arms shift so one of his hands can tangle in your hair, a quick tilt of your head and he finally smashes his mouth to yours. Teeth clacking together as he groans into the kiss, his lips insistent as he rolls his hips just right so you feel his covered length brush against your desperate core. 

Back arching as you try to grind against him and part your lips, your movements frenzied as you slide your tongue against his as the coil inside of your tightens. Only to wail as he pulls up and away, his hands on the sides of your face and his chest heaving a hair breath away from you. “Not yet. But I’ll let have some release.” A wildness in his eyes as his hands move leaning back and grabbing your hips to better adjust you, and you cry out, his cock is framed between your pussy lips your slick adding to the damp fabric that serves as a barrier. 

“Tell me, can you come from just this or do you need a little help?” He doesn’t wait for your answer, rolling his back and locking his lips over one of your nipples and sucking. Your back arches at an angle that’s almost painful from the surprise, your hands moving with no real reason as they grip his blond locks and you whine like a bitch in heat. A hum from Vash as he sucks, his flesh hand on the breast he isn’t sucking at like a man starved, his palm rolling the hardened bud with a light touch. 

You're grinding up against his length as best as you can, chasing that high and feeling your core throb in time to the shifting of your hips. Every so often hitting your clit on the head of his cock and making yourself let out a symphony of whines. Vash of course is grinning, his mouth never leaving your breast as he lavishes it with his tongue, circling the hard peak with the pointed tip and watching your face contort in pleasure. He can feel your juices soaking his underwear and his own sex is throbbing with need, wanting to be encased in those slick walls of yours and emptying in his balls deep inside of you. Seeing your eyelids flutter he switches tactics, pinching one nipple while bitting the area in his mouth hard enough to leave an indent of his teeth in your flesh. 

You recklessly rutting against him now, as the sudden pain that laces through you snaps the tension that had built inside of you. Gasping his name as you come, a fresh wave of wetness leaves your core as you slump against the bed with your fingers dragging bonelessly against his skull before hitting the bed with a soft thump.

Vash lifts his head enough to survey the marks left on your breast, his chest swelling with pride as you squirm under him clearly still lost in the haze of your first release. It was worth the build-up,  sweeping his hand across your stomach and feeling the heat still rising from your flesh. He takes a few deep breaths as he watches you, using the time while you recover to try and get his own sex to calm down, he’s not done with you yet. 

As the racing of your heart starts to slow you raise a hand to rub against your face, pushing your sweat-soaked locks from your forehead before opening your eyes once more. A dopey love-sick grin adorns your lips as you look at Vash, his pale chest a vibrant shade of red as it heaves. “That. Was. Amazing.” Breathless as you coo up at your lover, a break crack in his facade as he returns the tender smile. 

“You did seem to enjoy yourself.” His hand is still sweeping across your skin, the cool fingertips making your muscles quake as the chill sinks in. “However.” Clicking his tongue as if disappointed “You made a mess.” You feel the confusion building in you until his flesh hand dips between your thighs and slips between your bodies with a quick scooping motion before raising it for both of you to see the slick covering his hand. Sticking the fingers in his mouth and sucking noisily as he watches you and you feel your walls clench and your stomach tighten. Fuck. You can hear as the fluid is pulled from the material of the glove he’s still wearing his eyes closed, and his face warped in a look of pure bliss. 

As he pulls his fingers away he smacks his lips and runs his tongue along his bottom lip as if savouring something. “I guess I’ll have to clean it up before we continue.” His voice even as he delivers the statement so matter of factly before lowering his head for a quick open-mouth kiss and you can taste yourself and traces of his own fluids on his tongue. Letting out a soft moan as he sweeps the wet muscle around yours and lifts your hips so he can shuffle his body from where you were starting to grind against him once more. “So desperate for release.” Tutting he lowers your hips and starts kissing down the center of your chest, lingering for a moment at the scar under your breast and over your heart. 

“You just had to come that violently huh? Making me have to do extra work before plowing into you.” You shudder as your breath leaves you in a long exhale, biting your lip as the anticipation builds watching his face intently as he keeps moving lower, letting the tip of his nose dip into your belly button and kissing your navel before giving it a bite hard enough to bruise. 

The fire inside of you is building once more and you feel your clit throb as his chin brushes down along the flesh of your sex while his head keeps moving. His eyes are like shining blue points as he watches you, well aware of the effect his movements are having on you. 

Once he’s between your thighs he has his nose against your dripping sex and takes a deep inhale that has your face burning. “Fuck you smell so desperate like that hole of yours knows I’m going to pound into it until you can’t walk.” Chuckling as he watches your core clench. “Such a needy drenched thing. Soon I’ll fill you to the bursting.”

You can feel as his the mused hairs of his forehead brush against your core, as he kneads the underside of your thighs and laps at the plush skin of one of them ignoring your sex for the moment. Sucking and licking your fluids that had spread along your skin with sure strokes, humming as he works enjoying himself while your aching for his touch once more. “Vash, Sunshine.” A desperate undercurrent to your croaked words “Please, I can’t take any more teasing. I wanna warm you up, baby.” He ignores you with a tightening of his hands under your legs and swiping his tongue is a circular pattern as he moves closer to your hole, letting the muscle press flat against your slit before moving to the other side. Thrashing in his hold as you try to get him to slip it past your folds. 

Another chuckle that you feel as the vibrations run along your skin. “Not yet.” He laves his affections onto the other thigh all while keeping an eye on your throbbing sex, watching as more fluid drips from between those shiny lips and down onto the bed sheets below you. It’s a debaucherous sight, to see your quivering muscles that he’s so used to having wrapped around his length as they pulse wanting to be filled. Indulging himself as he keeps licking at your skin and listening to the little noises you make, trying to contain them behind one of your hands as he works. It’s all for him and his body tingles knowing this is all because of him, that you’re so desperate to come because of what he’s doing to you. “I know you want me inside you, thrusting into you and making you see stars while you try to drain my balls for all they’ve got. I want that too, to watch you come while my cock splits you open  but first to clean up the mess you made of yourself.”

You let out a wordless scream as the takes that first seemingly innocent lick along your slit, his tongue curled to scoop as much of your juices into his mouth and letting out a noise like a cat that’s gotten into the cream. Relishing the taste before diving back in with sure strokes along your folds, a light skim of the muscle along one side before darting to the other flicking your opening as he goes. It’s enough to have you howling, shoving a hand into your mouth, and biting down in the meat between your thumb and index finger to try and dampen your sounds.

Vash is relentless between your thighs, sucking and licking with different strokes that alter between light and hard as he works to make you produce more and more slick for him to consume as if drunk on the taste of you. His nose bumping your clit has you trying to grind into his face to push yourself into that oblivion of post-release haze once more, Vash of course is having none of that. Looping his prosthetic around your waist and pinning your jerking hips to the bed sending you a glare that makes you pant seeing his chin covered in what you can only assume is your juices and his saliva. Damn, that look at you struggling against his hold has you wanting to kiss him and drown in his affections, your inner walls clamping painfully. A quick survey of your dripping slit and secured hips has a wolfish grin forming on his face as he goes back to your pussy, plunging his curled tongue into your depths.

His flesh hand reaches up from under you to use his fingers to part your folds, framing your spread insides between the V of his gloved middle and index finger letting him swirl his tongue leisurely and watching as you spasm for him. Using the tip to trace a pattern of whorls against your walls before plunging the muscle as if he was fucking you with his tongue, the slight tremble of your body has his cock painfully rock hard under his hips rolling them just enough to try and relieve some of the pressure. 

He knows he won’t last long as he feels your pussy clamping around the intrusion, trying to pull him deeper inside of you. From the noises you’re making and the micro rocks of your hips he can tell you’re close again, sliding his fingers along your folds as he withdraws his tongue from your cunt to suck at your clit and slipping a single finger inside. 

Your reaction is immediate as your walls seem to try and crush his finger with the force of their spamming and you let out a broken sob. A swell of pride once more as he keeps sucking at the bundle of nerves and plunging his finger side of you, curling it to start to stretch you out before adding a second. The wet squelching of your walls around his fingers as he works them deeper until he’s knuckle deep, twisting those digits around and tapping against a spot he knows can make you come. Alternating it with the spreading of his fingers to scissor your slick core feeling your body trying to restrain them and pull them deeper. Adding a third he starts to finger you harder, jerking his hand against you while he flicks your nub with the tip of his tongue. Lifting his gaze from your fluttering sex to see your eyes closed and panting like you’re running a race. 

“Mayfly, open your eyes.” A command that he growls out at you, that you’re compelled to obey and the second your eyes meet his sinfully dark expression that coil inside of you snaps. Thrashing as much as he allows you as you squirt over his fingers while you fall apart for the second time that night. Vash doesn’t relent as you come this time, his fingers replaced by his mouth as he drinks down your release with wide swipes for his tongue along the length of your pussy forcing you to come a third time as your body writhes from the overstimulation and Vash moans as he keeps lapping at your juices. 

A whimper from you has Vash pulling away his hand rubbing along where the imprint of his arm had been around your waist, feeling a little sheepish that he had gotten that into it and almost hurt you. 

You just let out a soft whimper as you bathe in the afterglow, feeling the pulsing of your heart through your body as your senses return to you as if waking up from a pleasant dream. Vaguely aware of the mattress rising and the sound of bare feet padding across the floor while you breathe deeply, a pleasant buzz at the back of your skull as your body sinks more into the post-coitus bliss almost ready to fall back asleep.

The sound of something being dragged as your brows furrowing, the heavy sound keeping you from falling back asleep as you try to push yourself onto your elbows to see what is happening only to flop back onto the bed as your body isn’t ready to support any of your weight just yet. 

Vash chuckles seeing you struggle as he places the mirror where he wants it before shedding his drenched underwear. Hissing as his cock bobs in the open air at last an angry red from being denied so long, reaching for his canteen on the table and taking a drink before turning back to the bed. “Let me help you up.” Using the one hand to help you into a seated position and holding the canteen to your lips. “You need a drink, between all the sweating and fluid you had dripping from your core you’re probably feeling a little light-headed.” 

You nod, taking a sip and leaning into his form. “Yea, I wonder why.” Mocking him as you take a few more sips with your eyes closed, opening them and seeing the closer mirror. At least now you know what the dragging sound was. “What are you planning Sunshine?” Suspicious as both of you have used a mirror before as you reminded the other why you cared for them so much. 

“Just something a little different.” Taking the canteen from you before standing and returning it to the table and you let out a happy little noise at the sight of his free cock. Seeing the pre cum smeared around the head you feel your pussy throb a little and your mouth water as you wouldn’t mind a taste of him at last. As if senses your lecherous thoughts Vash sighs “Not that.” 

Sitting on the bed with his legs spread you get ready to question him about the way he’s positioned himself, at least until he’s tugging you to the edge of the bed and getting you to stand. Almost falling over as your legs wobble before he keeps you steady, maneuvering you to face the mirror before getting you to settle against his lap. A few minor adjustments and you have to admit you’re feeling warm already. Reflected back at you are both of your faces, sweat lining your brows and both of you looking disheveled with your hair plastered to your face. A few bruises forming just beneath sections of your skin and your chest is moving in time to his, his hands stroking along your sides. Perfectly centered in the mirror is his throbbing cock, the head weeping and framed between your parted pussy lips. 

Vash is nosing at the skin of your neck, your hair pushed to one side as he rubs his lips and the point of his tongue along the space where it meets your shoulder but his eyes are on the mirror watching you. Using the reflection to stare into your shining orbs he places a soft peck there before speaking. “I want us to have sex while watching ourselves in this mirror. I want to see both of our faces as I split you open on my dick, as we come and I paint those lovely insides of yours with my seed. To watch as our shared release drips from those swollen lips back down my cock onto my balls.” 

Damn, the picture he’s painting for you has you swimming in arousal as your pussy throbs and a dampness starts to seep from you spreading to his hot flesh twitching against your opening. “Me too Sunshine, I wanna see you fill me up.” The words are low, as your body shakes with your labored breaths feeling that fire inside of you starting to build once more. 

His cock is searing against your sex, knowing he hasn’t come yet tonight makes you wonder how pent-up he is as his hands glide along your side. Pressing another kiss to your skin while keeping eye contact before whispering against your ear. “Put me inside you when you’re ready to start.” Watching yourself in the mirror you reach up first to touch his jaw, fingertips sweeping along his cheek while you give a few small rolls spreading your juices along more of his length. 

It’s a sight to behold as both of you keep staring into the mirror not wanting to miss a thing as you reach down to grasp his length, a fluttering of his eyelids, lifting yourself enough to line him up with your slit. He’s kissing the palm of your hand waiting to watch as you impale yourself on his cock. A soft groan as you let your weight slowly drop before you moan as he splits you open and disappears inside of your body. 

Both of you are still while looking as your body adjusts clenching around him and seeing the slight movement of your sexes in the mirror. The twitch of his balls and the fluttering of your lips while your body burns from the stretch, twin sighs as you relax around him and he doesn’t feel like he’s about to blow his load just from being inside of you. 

“I want to burn this sight into my head, damn you beautiful stretched around me.” Panting against the rough skin of your palm and settling one of his hands over your belly where you can feel his cock throbbing inside of you. “Well, you look beautiful to me all the time. But I guess this just tickles something inside of me just right.” All pretense of being in charge is gone as he gives you a tender smile and you have to agree, this is a sight you want to remember for the nights that you can’t be intimate with your handsome plant. 

“I like how you look now too, like you’re ready to fill me to the brim.” A light laugh as he taps his fingers against your skin, moving your hand to interlace your fingers with his. A silent signal that you can move whenever you feel ready, and you start to gently rock atop him. 

“I am ready to fill you to the brim.” He admits as his prosthetic glides up your side and grips one of your breasts, helping to keep you stable as you ride him and groping your flesh. 

It isn’t long before both of you are panting from the gentle pace that has his cock hitting all the right places inside of your walls with the position you’re both in. You keep your movements shallow, ensuring he doesn’t slip out of your pussy as the sweat beads along your skin before forming rivets moving downwards. Watching where the two of you are joined and the small bump that moves under your hands as his cock keeps brushing deep inside of you. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last Mayfly.” In his eyes, you can see the strain as he tries to hold back, after denying himself all night and now finally wrapped in your tight pussy. 

“You don’t have to Sunshine. Fill me up just like you promised.” You whisper watching his cock slip more inside your body as Vash spreads his legs a little more allowing you to sink farther down on him. 

“Come with me.” Huffing against your hand still against his face and you see the desperation in his eyes. Letting him slide his hand and yours down to your cunt, as he uses your fingers to circle your clit to help push you to that precipice with him. 

“I will Vash, I’ll come with you so I can milk those big balls dry.” Hearing him hiss as you move harder against him increasing the tempo of the movement of your hips. “I wanna watch as you pump me full, please.” Pleading with him as your voice hitches, the fire inside of you building as he works both of you to the point of no return. 

“Fuck, I want to. Almost there.” His panting, closer to a growl as his eyes narrow in the mirror, the sight of you making his cock throb deep in your walls feeling the way you're clenching him already. “I want you stuffed full we can’t move.” 

“Vash” A short cry as Vash can’t seem to hold back any longer, rocking his hips upwards and spearing you on his dick while he presses harder into your clit. A low groan that sounds like your name as you both tip over that edge, your Walls spasm and contract around him in a vice-like fashion as he floods your core. The force of his release strong enough you feel it splatter against your womb as you keep squeezing him, wanting every last drop he has in your pussy. It’s a struggle as you both keep your eyes open while your face twists into ones of ecstasy as the shockwaves roll through you, and Vash lowers his face from your hand to bite into your neck. 

Both of you watch with cracked eyes as his balls keep throbbing and you can feel the slightest swelling of the bump inside of your body as he pumps you full. As you both sit there breathless you watch the first creamy stream slip past your abused sex and roll down his length before pooling on his balls and dripping to the floor. 

“Vash?” A soft exhale of pain as his mouth releases the skin of your neck. 

“Yes” A whisper of your name like a promise as his eyes seemed glued to the sight. 

“Happy solstice” A chuckle as his arms wrap around your middle and a kiss to where the newest bruise on your neck is forming. 

“Happy solstice my love.” Humming before you let out a short snort. 

“Think anyone heard us?” 

“Mayfly, if they did I think we would have gotten a noise complaint already.” You nod leaning back into his chest as your hands rub against his arms, fingers dipping into the gap of the metal that forms his forearms. 

“Wanna go again in a bit?” 

A louder laugh as he noses the shell of your ear before smirking at you in the mirror. After all, the solstice is the longest night of the year, and the two of you are just getting started.  

Back to Masterlist for the series

[burins]

as promised the separate comics/graphic novels roundup for 2023! this is a normal post until May when I realized I could (as a graphic novel librarian) become an Eisner voter and read 54 comics in a month (and then slightly less so in August when the Harveys came up.) below a cut because it's heinously long. I'll include my little write-ups and some panels right after my faves

JANUARY

Under the Red Hood by Judd Winick and Doug Mahnke I read this January second. Begin as you mean to go on! For all its flaws (Dick's Squidward face) the emotional arc of this story puts me right into the pit about Jason Todd.

Superman: Reign of the Supermen by Dan Jurgens and others

Batman/Superman: World’s Finest (ongoing) by Mark Waid, Dan Mora, and Travis Moore First off Dan Mora draws everyone like the most beautiful people in the world, which never hurts to look at. But also this is just a really fun comic! The action is fun the characters are very sweet and we get an honest to god Superbat gem fusion

Young Justice (1998) by Peter David and Todd Nauck MY CHILDREN! I was finishing up my Tim readthrough and was so delighted to meet Kon and Cassie and Bart and Cissie and Anita (I still don't care for Lobo.) Nauck's art is cartoony in a way that fits the comic really well.

Red Robin by Christopher Yost, Fabian Nicieza, Ramón Bachs, and Marcus To THEEEEE ARC for Tim. Everyone says read Red Robin. Yes read Red Robin but also understand this is him at his worst and most scrungly. This is not normal Tim. This is Tim's failgirl era.

Titans/Young Justice: Graduation Day by Judd Winick and Ale Garza

MARCH

You and a Bike and a Road by Eleanor Davis Beautiful little memoir comic about biking across the US, and also about borders and travel and isolation/togetherness.

Superman for All Seasons by Jeph Loeb, Tim Sale, and Bjarne Hansen I love this comic. Tim Sale draws Clark like the biggest, softest person you've ever seen, and Bjarne Hansen's colors are so gentle. (if you remember the rock metaphor from mission parameters, it's inspired by this scene from Book 1: Spring)

APRIL

Superman: Lost by Christopher Priest and Carlos Parlaguyan (ongoing) This series cuts right to the horror of being Superman and also the horror of being Lois Lane SO deftly. a few plot points I don't love but overall God it makes me miserable

Birds of Maine by Michael Deforge A delightful, dreamy collection of comics about birds living in a utopian society on the moon. The art is weird, the story is weird, everything about it is lovely.

MAY

Divinity v1-2 by Matt Kindt and Trevor Hairsine

The City of Belgium by Brecht Evans This is not a perfect graphic novel but the stuff it does with art and page and rhythm is so so phenomenal.

Lights, Planets, People! by Lizzy Stewart and Molly Naylor

Killadelphia v1-3 by Rodney Barnes, Jason Shawn Alexander, and Christopher Mitten

The Department of Truth v1-4 by James Tynion IV and Martin Simmonds This is a book about conspiracy theories and it is DEEPLY unsettling. Martin Simmonds' art makes me legitimately queasy to look at. Really really good but also it did send me into a little spiral for a bit.

Supergirl Woman of Tomorrow by Tom King and Bilquis Evely (Mat Lopes' colors also deserve a shoutout) This book made me cry! Also I have yet to read another Kara comic because this one was so good and I'm afraid the others won't be. She's sharp and angry in all the best ways and also deeply deeply caring and good. Capes meets space fantasy at its best. I would die for Ruthye

Nightwing (2016) v1-2 by Tom Taylor and Bruno Redondo

Batman: One Bad Day: The Riddler by Tom King and Mitch Gerads

She-Hulk (2022) v1-2 by Rainbow Rowell, Luca Maresca, Rogê Antônio, and Takeshi Miyazawa

Superman: Space Age by Mike Russell and Michael Allred

Revenge of the Librarians by Tom Gauld

Pinball: A Graphic History of the Silver Ball by Jon Chad

Down to the Bone: A Leukemia Story by Catherine Pioli

So Much for Love: How I Survived a Toxic Relationship by Sophie Lambda

Welcome to St. Hell: My Trans Teen Misadventure by Lewis Hancox 

Chef’s Kiss by Jarrett Melendez and Danica Brine

Wash Day Diaries by Jamila Rowser and Robyn Smith

Animal Castle v1 by Xavier Dorison and Felix Delep

Bungleton Green and the Mystic Commandos by Jay Jackson

Flung Out of Space: Inspired by the Indecent Adventures of Patricia Highsmith by Grace Ellis and Hannah Templer Masterclass in writing a biopic that doesn't shy away from its subject's being kind of a wretched person while also producing art that is deeply meaningful to many, many people.

Rain by Joe Hill and Zoe Thorogood

Tiki: A Very Ruff Year by David Azencot and Fred Leclerc

Ten Days in a Madhouse by Nellie Bly, adapted by Brad Ricca and Courtney Sieh

Ultrasound by Conor Stechschulte

Tori Amos: Little Earthquakes, The Graphic Album (various)

A Visit to Moscow by Rabbi Rafael Grossman, adapted by Anna Olswanger and Yevgenia Nayberg

Look Back by Tatsuki Fujimoto

Shuna’s Journey by Hayao Miyazaki

Come Over Come Over by Lynda Barry

It’s So Magic by Lynda Barry

My Perfect Life by Lynda Barry What a lovely collection of comics. Barry captures being a teen in all its mess and glory.

Macanudo: Welcome to Elsewhere by Liniers

Always Never by Jordi Lafebre

The Pass by Espé

Mary Jane and Black Cat Beyond

Moon Knight: Black, White and Blood by Jed Mackay and Carlos Villa

The Nice House on the Lake v1-2 by James Tynion IV and Álvaro Martínez Bueno (Jordie Bellaire colors) I know Tynion can do horror, but he really really can do horror. This is like Glass Onion meets the worst nightmare you've ever had, and the way it unfolds is masterful. Martínez Bueno's art is dreamy and unsettling, especially combined with Bellaire who colors like she's painting oil slicks.

A Vicious Circle by Mattson Tomlin and Lee Bermejo

Booster Gold (1986) by Dan Jurgens Booster my friend Booster. I really didn't expect this to be as FUN as it is! There are occasional storylines that drag but overall a delight.

The Human Target v1-2 by Tom King and Greg Smallwood

Heartstopper v2-4 by Alice Oseman

Killer Queens by David Booher and Claudia Balboni

I Hate This Place v1 by Kyle Starks and Artyom Topilin I really need to read v2 because this was so fun. Queer backwoods horror, sarcastic, delightful, and never heavy-handed. I read this right after Killer Queens, which read like someone fed a bunch of Drag Race episodes and 2012 tumblr posts into a comics generator, and Heartstopper, which was so blandly unobjectionable I actually forgot I'd read it, so I Hate This Place felt refreshing as hell. (actually while looking up screencaps I remember why I didn't read v2 which is that v1 has a LOT of gore and body horror and I gotta be careful with that stuff. however if you like a slasher go forth)

It’s Lonely at the Center of the Earth by Zoe Thorogood Gut punch on every page. Thorogood's art is weird and wild. It does feel a bit as though she's opened up her ribs for us to peruse.

Chivalry by Neil Gaiman and Colleen Doran

Sensory: Life on the Spectrum (various)

Cryptid Club by Sarah Andersen

Public Domain v1 by Chip Zdarsky

Love Everlasting v1 by Tom King and Elsa Charretier

Mazebook by Jeff Lemire A twisting fable about grief and the paths it takes you down. A lot of the Eisner noms had dead wives or daughters which I began to resent, but I gave this a pass because it was really, really beautiful.

Ducks: Two Years in the Oil Sands by Kate Beaton Everyone has told you it's good! oh it's good. Beaton's style, which I associate more with her humor work, at first feels somewhat at war with the subject matter, but it ended up really working for me.

Days of Sand by Aimee DeJongh

Talk to My Back by Yamada Murasaki This was one of my favorite books of the whole year. Beautiful meditation on the compromises of marriage and motherhood in beautiful, sparse drawings that lingered with me long after I'd finished reading.

Crushing by Sophie Burrows

JUNE

Do a Powerbomb by Daniel Warren Johnson Do you like wrestling? I don't really care about it, but I do love weird wacky stories about grief and trying to fight your way through the afterlife to get your mom back. Both hilarious and poignant. The art is as bombastic as it needs to be.

The Night Eaters v1 by Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda Liu and Takeda are back! This time with some horror about a pair of siblings and their fucked up parents. Great stuff.

Ripple Effects by Jordan Hart and Bruno Chiroleu

Superman: Up in the Sky by Tom King and Andy Kubert Oh the Clark Kent of it all. the panel where Clark is calling home from alien customs because he has flown to the ends of the universe for one little girl is really what got me in this one

Kingdom Come by Mark Waid and Alex Ross

Superman: American Alien by Max Landis and various artists

Superman Red and Blue (anthology) This is a whole lot of writers and a whole lot of artists and all of them are excellent. Once again the Clark Kent emotion is happening to me.

JULY

Superman: Birthright by Mark Waid and Leinil Francis Yu

Superman (2011) v5-6 by Greg Pak and Aaron Kuder

Superman: Warworld by Philip Kennedy Johnson and various artists

Justice League International by Keith Giffen, J. M. DeMatteis, and Kevin Maguire Booster my friend Booster is here and also so are all of my other new friends. I loved the initial run (though it has its weak spots) but then I had to slog through a lot of very bad later stuff.

AUGUST

Blue and Gold by Dan Jurgens and Ryan Sook

New Teen Titans (various Brother Blood issues) by Marv Wolfman and George Pérez

Acting Class by Nick Drnaso

Follow Me Down: A Reckless Book by Ed Brubaker

Girl Juice by Benji Nate

Little Monsters v1 by Jeff Lemire and Dustin Nguyen

Mimosa by Archie Bongiovanni

Who Will Make the Pancakes by Megan Kelso

Cat + Gamer by Wataru Nadatani

Goodbye, Eri by Tatsuki Fujimoto

Spy x Family v1-2 by Tatsuya Endo

Alice on the Run: One Child’s Journey Through the Rwandan Civil War by Gaspard Talmasse

Ashes by Álvaro Ortiz

The Extraordinary Part: Book One: Orsay’s Hands by Florent Ruppert and Jérôme Mulot The art and story here are simply so fabulous. A better world is possible and sometimes you have to take direct action to make it!

SEPTEMBER

Batman RIP by Grant Morrison and Tony S. Daniel

Batman Incorporated by Grant Morrison and Chris Burnham

Batman and Robin (2011) by Peter J. Tomasi and Patrick Gleason I've talked about this one before but I think it is truly one of my favorite depictions of Bruce as father in all the ways he succeeds and all the ways he fails. John Kalisz's luminous colors also deserve a shoutout.

OCTOBER

Batman: Failsafe and Gotham War by literally everyone currently working in DC but especially Zdarsky

Birds of Prey (1999) by Chuck Dixon and then Gail Simone and a number of other people (this continued into November and December) This made the worms in my brain wriggle so bad that I wrote a whole yuri zine piece about Dinah and Babs, coming to a PDF (or physical copy!) near you soon!

DECEMBER

Dungeon Meshi v1-11 by Ryoko Kui Is it romantic to devour and be devoured in turn? Ryoko Kui sure thinks so. I was hungry the whole time I was making these my bedtime reading.

Through the Woods by Emily Carroll Emily Carroll is among the best to ever do it. This collection of stories is her at her unsettling best.

When I Arrived at the Castle by Emily Carroll

Batgirl (2000) v1-3 by Kelley Puckett and Damion Scott thanks to Mssrs Puckett and Scott I am now fully unhinged about Cass Cain and her quest for immolation. the art in this is so stylized but so well-done, especially given how little text is in much of the series. when the paneling hits it HITS.

Bruce Wayne Murderer/Fugitive by everyone working at DC in 2002 When a good crossover storyline works, it really really works. I love to see Bruce completely blow up his life because he doesn't see any point in existing outside the cowl anymore. Even more do I love to see the fallout from this on everyone who loves him! delight delight delight.

and that's everything I read this year!! god there was a lot of it. I liked a lot of the stuff I didn't bold, but also I hated some of it. please feel free to talk to me about any of it!!!

[flyingmintbunny0]

Back by popular demand- What if More Archivist!Martin AU!!

Here's how the Hill Top Road roommates were born!

(If you can spot all the spiders in each panel, you have sharp eyes)

Get your context below the cut~

Ok, first off, I adore all the tags in my first post about this AU, they make my whole day!!! I'm so glad people latched onto the silly roommates especially, so I figured I'd show how Martin found them!

~~~~~

Story (A bit of a prologue setting up The Web if you will):

CW: Spiders (but they are cute, I promise)

Martin was always a very isolated kid, he never made many connections with other people besides his mother. So when he came out to her after he'd turned 15, he had nowhere to go when she kicked him out of the house until he "came to his senses".

He wandered the streets, waiting until enough time had reasonably passed so he could go home and apologize to her. In the meantime, he found himself sitting on a park bench staring up at the swaying leaves on a nearby tree.

Then, he felt something crawling up his arm. And another something was creeping up his other hand. Looking down, there were two tiny spiders clinging to Martin, as if they were afraid he would throw them off. Which was ridiculous of course. Martin had always had a soft spot for little creatures and cooed to them softly.

"Hello little ones, where did you come from?" He giggled for the first time in... he can't remember how long, as the little critters waved their front legs in the air towards him. Martin wanted to believe they were trying to say Hi back.

Martin spent the afternoon distracting himself by watching the spiders roam around, crawling from hand to hand like an endless spider treadmill. They spun fragile webs between his fingers and Martin thought they were beautiful.

The sun set, but the two little spiders didn't seem keen to leave him, so Martin decided to bring them home with him. On the walk back, he came up with names that seemed suitable for each of them. If they were going to stick around, they deserved to be properly addressed. He thought about his favorite subject in school for ideas. They had just finished up a poetry unit and he was captivated by a few poets in particular. He looked down at the spider on his shoulder that had climbed up on him first.

"You seem like an Oscar Wilde type," Martin gently poked at the spider. The newly appointed Oscar looked offended, like it could give a sarcastic retort if it was capable of human speech.

"As for you..." Martin paused at the second one. It was sitting in a fold of Martin's sleeve, but poked its head out nervously at Martin's attention. "I'm going to call you John."

John Keats wasn't an especially inspired choice, Martin thought. But he was his favorite author at the moment. Something about his sappy verses drew Martin in like a moth to a flame, or a fly to a web.

~~~~~

Later, after Martin had settled into a long-term position at the Magnus Institute, London, his mother decided she wanted to be rid of him for real this time. She asked him to set her up in a proper care home, and left him alone in their apartment. Martin was neither financially nor emotionally stable enough to stay in the lonely apartment, so he left as soon as possible with his few belongings in tow.

Annabelle Cane found him. Martin didn't understand how or why for a long time. But he eventually assumed it had to be connected to his spider friends somehow. At least she was friendly enough.

Annabelle led him back to her house on Hill Top Road. And sure, he wasn't expecting to live in a house filled with roommates that kept worms and moldy food(?) in the fridge, or a barrel drum full of wax in the basement, or an attic coated from floor to ceiling in cobwebs. But where else could he go? It's not like he could live in the library at work.

Yeah, his new roommates were weird, but he soon realized that he liked them. They were rough around the edges, but he figured out ways to be helpful, to smooth them out. He painstakingly experimented to find out their preferred choice of tea, and even convinced them to join him for movie nights every weekend.

And everything was going well! Martin was enjoying his work in the library, and he actually felt stable for once in his life.

That is, until Elias Bouchard called Martin into his office one day...

~~~~~

OK I didn't mean to write a whole fic for this picture, but I couldn't stop myself pffff

All of the spider talk is 100% @lelouchootori 's fault btw ;v; I just thought it would be cute if the lil spiders I was adding to Martin's hair had lore, and they said that the spiders should have names, so it really spiraled.

Another tidbit! After meeting Annabelle, Martin realizes that she can communicate with the spiders Oscar and John. This causes him to talk to them a lot more (even if he can't understand them), especially in his Archivist office. I have a very specific scene in mind to make this a full-on office comedy:

Martin: What do you think about this creepy statement, John?

Jon (passing by his office door): What? What did you say?

Martin: Oh, sorry, I wasn't talking to you Jon.

Jon: ???

[dde719]

BDAY

Pairing: Jungkook x reader, Namjoon x reader

WC: 1.7k

Tags:

Rough Oral sex- male receive

Photo shoot

Threesome F/M/M

Vaginal Fingering

Slight daddy kink

Double penetration two holes

Double creampie

An: This one-shot was made for my dear friend's bday. The inspiration for this fic came from an edit where JK was lying across the couch with a camera in his hand. Shout-out to the owner and Creator of this edit, you are truly talented and amazing💜. This was written to Acquainted by The Weeknd.

**Credit to the owner of the gifs**

Your bday just seemed like every other normal day but you wanted to do something special and get a photoshoot done to feel extra nice for the evening. You spoke with some friends and they told you about an amazing new photographer in town. They highly recommended him to you after many months of thought and preparations. You spoke with him on the phone to get all of the details of the date and what you're looking for. Your friend Olivia squealed, "Girl, you're gonna leave the shoot feeling like a brand new bitch." Rolling your eyes at her, "Girl, it's just pictures, Chill out homie." She starts to blush, "Uh huh, sureee... You'll see very soon." On August 16, after work, typing in his address to the studio and drove to where he was located. Driving down the bumpy roads and passing a few streets with abandoned buildings. You were turning down the music to make sure this was the building he was working out of. 

Why would a photographer work in this part of town? You thought to yourself while stepping out of the car and walking towards the building. Staring at the address on your phone 613 Euphoria Ave then at the ugly building in front of you, gulping hard when you knock on the door. A stunning man with the biggest brown eyes, and dark hair framing his face, tattoos, and piercings. Your eyes lit up, "Hello... Are you Jungkook?" He towers over you staring down, "Yeah, you're here for our session... Did you bring extra clothes?" He motions for you to come in and the halls were painted dark with small details etched in the walls, chandeliers that were made of rectangular panels. You're heels clack on the hardwood floor, and you take a deep breath, "Ugh yes... Here." Opening your bag and showing him the clothes, he deeply chuckles, "These aren't going to work." Rolling your eyes, "What?! Why not, these are perfect fo-"  "Your friends obviously didn't tell you what kind of..." His words trail off as he heads for the door, "I'll be back, wait for me here."

You plop down on the couch fumbling with your thumbs, awaiting his return. Looking at the bowl on his coffee table that held assorted condoms. You were texting Olivia:

 Just as you were about to respond again, he returned with the camera around his neck, wearing the tiniest boxers... Choking on nothing, "Fuck.... Um, I like your tattoos." He smirks, "Time to strip my dear, My next client is coming in two hours." Chuckling loudly, "Strip?! What kinda-" "You're wasting my time," licking his lips, "it's a boudoir shoot... So either get naked or leave my studio." Thankfully you wore cute underwear this evening.

Removing your pants and shirt, just as you're about to remove the shoes, he bellows, "Those stay on," cocking his head to the side looking at your curves, "I'll be right back." He brings you thigh-high stockings still in the package, and wiggles his eyebrows, "Put these on." Smirking up at him, "Yes, sir." Nervously sitting on the couch, your face is getting warm when he says, "I like your tattoo sleeve too... Now lay on your back and touch one hand to your face." Snapping some pictures he says, "Ok, now pout your lips, blow a kiss, wink." He wants you to do more advanced poses so he put down the camera and positioned your body in different ways, his hardening bulge rubs against you.

His lips graze yours and he grabs your hands, guiding them up your body and places them on your breast. He whispers, "Are you good? Feel free to do as you please so I can capture those sexy faces." Grabbing your legs and resting them on the back couch cushion and his dick rubs on your forehead. He smiles down at you, "Ahh, very good... Hold that pose." He goes back to the other couch and tells you to relax and pretend you're being fucked. Your face scrunches, "Um, is this what you do with all of your clients." He giggles while taking more shots, "Most of them," looking at you through the camera, "Open your legs... squeeze your tits together." After snapping a few more pictures he tells you there's not enough passion in your face. He leads you to his room, lays you on the bed, and makes a phone call.

"Hyung... You're still in the studio right, we need your help." You sigh on the bed with your eyes closed and can't believe what is happening. Your head shoots up when you feel the weight shift on the bed and a man speaking, "What do you need me to do Kook?" He looks down at you, "Hello gorgeous... I'm Namjoon, Nice to meet you." Smiling at the beautiful tall man with dimples that is nestled between your thighs. "Just do whatever feels right so I can get the best expressions." Before you can say anything, he roughly pins your legs down, grinding into you. The fabric of your thong was soaked as his hips rolled hard into yours. Instantly moaning while Jungkook takes pictures, Joon smiles watching you writhe from his touch and shove two fingers in your mouth. Your moans are muffled and vibrate around them. He slides your thong to the side, takes out his fingers soaked in your saliva, and shoves them into your tight wet cunt. Screaming, "Oh fuck," when he pumps them in and out of you rapidly. Your muscles squeeze around his long slender fingers while his other hand grips your inner thigh. Your eyes roll in the back of your head, leaving you wanting more, he senses this and his big plump lips lick slowly on your clit while he fingers you. He begins to hum around your sensitive bud the faster his tongue flicks. You squeeze your breasts together, biting your bottom lip, and moaning through gritted teeth.

The camera flashes, looking in Namjoon's direction, his eyes locking with yours when he eats you out. Whimpering before your orgasm erupts all over his tongue, his face. He pauses for a minute and asks, "Do you want me to fuck you?" Staring at the beautiful man on top of you, "Y-yes." He laughs at you, "Call me Daddy." Rolling your eyes, "Ughh, what?!" His large hand slaps your clit, causing you to wince in pain, "You heard me..." He rubs and soothes your aching pussy before landing another slap on it. Gripping the sheets in your hands, "Yes, Daddy..." He lines up to your entrance and pounces fast and hard into you. Your eyebrows furrow when you feel a barbell ring on his thick long shaft. Clenching tightly around him, "Oh shit... Ah-ahhhh, fuck."

He bites his lip, "You take me so well princess," his hips rapidly bounce into yours. Tears roll down your face, and you don't notice Jungkook standing closer, taking more pictures. Jungkook blurts out, "Ahh good, wrap your hands around his neck." Obiediently you listened to his command and used your arm with the tattoos on it to grip tight. You moan louder the harder he thrust into you, he grunts, "You like that." Whimpering, "YES," he pounces harder into you, "Yes WHAT! HMMM." Smiling, "Yes Daddy... Mmmm." Suddenly opening your eyes when your dragged to the edge of the bed with your head laying off of the side. Namjoon nudges between your legs, places them on his shoulder, and pounds hard into you while Jungkook's bare tip rubs your mouth, as permission to enter.

His hips rapidly snap, causing his thick girthy length to fill every space of your mouth. Feeling his member glide past your tonsils, his mouth hangs open when you close tight around him. He grumbles, "Oh fuck," your hands tightly grip his ass while his balls slap against your face. Namjoon quickens the pace and moments later, you gush all over him. Your legs tremble and quake then you pull Jungkook out of your mouth, stroking him hard and rough. He groans your name and then leaves the room to search for lube. He returns to the bed and lays down, squirting a generous amount and rubbing it on. He was glistening, "Bring your ass here." Slowly crawling towards him and getting in reverse cowgirl position. Sitting on his erection bouncing up and down while Namjoon rubs your clit in large circles. Your hips buck wildly and he pushes you down so your back presses against Kookie's large chest. He spreads your legs further apart and aggressively rolls his hips. His lips slightly parted and he whimpered, "Damn girl," while pulling down your bra licking and sucking on your nipples. Your hand runs through his hair then Jungkook's hand grasps your throat from behind. His fingers leave a print the harder he holds you. Feeling dizzy, overstimulated, your body tingles, and out of breath as another pending orgasm sneaks up on you. Namjoon bites on your chest, leaving bright red marks then slaps your face as he releases into you.

He pulls out and takes over the camera, snapping pictures when Jungkook holds your hips steady and thrusts harder from underneath. He grunts, "Yeah, uhhh, yeahhh." Your bodies are thumping together and you feel his warm cum empty inside your tight ass. You grip his calves, catching your breath, smiling while Joon takes more pictures. He smiles, "You did amazing, love." You were panting, "Um thank you guys for an amazing session... I hope to return." Moving your hips forward until Jungkook hard dick slips out of your ass, "When do I get the pictures?" He slaps your ass so hard, it stings, leaving a bright red handprint, "Soon, You're going to look so hot... Come, I'll show you where the bathroom is." You get washed and changed, hugging the men tightly, blushing all the way home. You plopped on the couch in your house, giggling because what was meant to be a normal day, turned out to be one of the best nights of your life.

[arengnera]

The Flesh Dress

All of the fabric for this was reclaimed from curtains, scraps, tights, discarded tule from a local highschool prom that I snatched up like a horrible little vulture. The boning in the bodice was done with huge zip-ties but I’m not convinced getting real sewable boning wouldn’t have been worth it. The channels on the reinforcement were a bit of a bitch. The swords I also forged myself, but this ain’t about them. A lot of (mostly fake) blood, sweat and tears went into this one and I’m super pleased with the results. Huge shout out to @spoonbendersanonymous​ who was kind enough to lend me the fake blood, their anatomical text book, and had me sit down to watch Bride of Reanimator for inspiration.

Process photos and bonus photoshoot pictures below the cut!

Original sketches! A lot of me trying to figure out how to make boning look like bones while maintaining a classic shape. I said edwardian on the sketch but it honestly might be Victorian I'm really not sure. This was a combined art project for one of my classes, the idea was using old fashioned mourning traditions and clothes in a modern and campy way, to complain about how much capitalism erodes our time to mourn. At least that’s what I told the professor, It’s really about making a weird and off putting dress first and foremost.

Tape pattern and paper pattern! This was my first time doing this so don't take thus as any sort of guide.

It worked though, as shown by the world’s worst corset fitting - the pink thing on my arm was where I was planning on putting the upper sleeve, I was trying to see if my poof was good since my sleeves were a lot thinner and a lot longer than what would have been optimal for the amount of poof I wanted, I had to do some work around with the fabric I had

Now I’m just bragging about getting eyelets to look clean and good for once in my life. If I was going to do anything different about this though, I would ad more eases in the back, because I need to contort horribly to get out of the bodice, I fit it too well

This bad boy was really the crux of the whole project. The entire thing was a pun so I could applique an anatomically accurate heart on a sheer sleeve.

This was was it’s intermediary stage, where I was suddenly very much out of time for the first deadline and had to put off adding all of the gore I wanted to, so the simple applique heart had to do. The skirt itself was way less poofy than I would have liked, and didn’t quite give the silhouette I wanted. I ended up going with the train because the under skirt isn’t actually connected in the back. Thus is the nature of working with weird panels of curtains you’ve already cut into for a few other projects. God bless the thrift store curtain section.

The guts were made by sewing together sheer tights, and filling them with polyfill. Here they are, before they were stippled with liquid flesh colored latex and soaked in fabric paint - and after where you can see all that extra TEXTURE

I was able to use it for another project though, and I was very happy with the beading work here, although I did end up losing my biggest strand at some point.

Here’s my makeup test! I played around with doing some blood red lips but decided the blueish corpse look was better. Fun fact! I drove home wearing a sweatshirt that says “I heart corpse desecration” on it through the snow storm, and pulled over to offer some guy a hand with his car, forgetting I still looked like this. He turned me down.

The face of someone who can definitely be trusted for road side assistance. - Also I was posing as the two of swords tarot illustration for the final gallery exhibit.

[amltdaily]

Before last weekend, I had no idea that Gary Mendez’s death and my mom’s had anything to do with each other.

(This is a TV story, I promise. Just stick with me.)

Last week, I had the honor of moderating some panels at ATX TV Festival in Austin, Texas. I love moderating, funneling a ton of preparation and research into what — if I do my job right — becomes a fun and illuminating conversation. One of my panels was titled “TV Screens for Cancer,” and it was sponsored by Hollywood, Health & Society. Despite what might at first glance seem like very grim subject matter, I was really looking forward to the opportunity to ask a bunch of TV writers about the cancer storylines they’d crafted over the years.  

I had a personal reason for wanting in on the discussion, too. My mother, Susan Roots, died in May 2021 from Stage IV breast cancer.

The fact of that sentence, by the way, is still as surreal to me as it was the week she passed. I don’t have much memory of when, in a fog of grief and distracted by funeral arrangements, I contacted ABC publicity to let them know I couldn’t make a prearranged phone interview with A Million Little Things creator/showrunner DJ Nash. I’d covered the show since its start; I vaguely recall being grateful, given the tight timelines related to broadcast finales, that our Season 3 finale call was moved to a time more convenient for me.

The conversation I eventually had with Nash, though, stands out in clear detail in my brain. I sat at my parents’ white kitchen table, wearing a shirt of my mother’s because I hadn’t brought enough clothes with me when I rushed home. I was about to launch into my questions when he gently interrupted.

“Tell me a story about your mom,” he said.

If you’ve had the experience of witnessing a loved one in the terminal phase of an illness, you know how tough it can be to think of any time when your shared lives didn’t revolve around the soul-grinding details, and how hard it is to think about anything else once the person has passed. When to administer morphine. Which hospice nurse is coming today. Which setting on the hospital bed brings the least discomfort. Nash’s kind, simple request delivered me from that for a moment.

I told him about a car ride I’d had as a kid with my mom, her mom and her aunt. The horn malfunctioned while we were on the highway, honking randomly, loudly and with abandon at the unsuspecting drivers all around us. My mom, grandmother and great aunt couldn’t stop laughing. My mom gasped for breath, wiping at her streaming eyes as she tried to hold it together so we didn’t run off the road. I cackled too, partly because the horn really was ridiculous, partly out of the novelty of seeing these three women lose themselves in such unhinged fashion.

Nash listened. He chuckled. When I was done, we went on with the interview as planned. I’ve been lucky to have a lot of great conversations with people who make TV over the years, but that one stands out — even more so now, for reasons I’ll get to in a minute.

For those unfamiliar with A Million Little Things, it was an hour-long drama that ran on ABC for five seasons. It followed a group of friends in Boston. At the end of the series, one of the friends — Gary Mendez (played by James Roday Rodriguez), whose experience as a breast cancer survivor was an integral part of the show — died of lung cancer.

As A Million Little Things’ boss and the arbiter of Gary’s fate, Nash was a great fit for the ATX panel last weekend. He was joined by fellow TV writers Erica Green Swafford (New Amsterdam), Adam Weissman (The Good Doctor) and Stephen Hootstein (Chicago Med), all of whom generously engaged with my questions about how to balance realistic portrayals of cancer and making good TV.

Remember how I said I like to be super-prepared for panels? Nash knocked all of that askew when, in front of the audience, he revealed something he hadn’t shared before.

“There’s a moment in the finale that was put in for you,” he said, referring to our conversation years before. “When Walter says to Rome, ‘Tell me a story about Gary.’”

ATX (which is owned by TVLine’s parent company, PMC) filmed the event, so you can see my surprise in the video at the top of this post. I was touched. I was flummoxed. I turned an even deeper shade of red than I normally do while public speaking. Reporters are taught to cover news, not make themselves the center of it. So while I was (and am!) flattered by Nash’s gesture, it was a little unsettling suddenly to find myself on the other side of things.

Most of all, though, I felt a deep gratitude that my mom’s existence was, in an indirect yet careful way, immortalized in a medium she adored.

When the panel was over, after making Nash swear to me yet again that he was telling the truth about the origin of Walter’s line, I confessed that I’d since stolen his story thing and used it when I didn’t know what to say to someone who was grieving. I recommend it.

So there you go: A brief moment of human connection in an industry that traffics in transactional conversations left us both with something meaningful. And somewhere, my primetime-drama-loving mom is absolutely overjoyed that she’s now a part — however far removed — of TV lore.

[fictionalafvsmybeloved]

M-12 Sabretooth from Resistance: Fall of Man?

You know, the closest I ever came to playing that game was an ARMA 3 Halloween operation.

Anyways, The M-12 Sabertooth

Aliens are invading Earth again, and this time they're coming hot on the heels of WWII.

So, this chassis has some pretty clear inspiration from the M1 Abrams; Running gear, side-skirts, mud-guards, even the front of the hull bear similarities to some extent.

Engine Deck is a mix of Leopard 2 fans, M60 rear grill, and even the air filters from early model Tiger 1's. Turret draws lineage from British Centurions (notably the Mk1 prototype which mounted a co-axial 20mm auto-cannon) and the add-on armor on the turret brings to mind a T-80 with ERA fitted.

This is apparently a "Light Battle Tank" so its mobility should be decent. Those road-wheels are packed in there pretty tightly.

Its also light enough to be air transported, so armor won't be stellar by any measure, but it should be sturdy enough. It's also equipped with so form of add-on armor on the turret, whether its just applique panels or ERA is unknown to me.

The Sabertooth does have some pretty sharp teeth, an 80mm rifled main gun, a .50 cal MG for the commanders hatch, and a 20mm Gatling gun mounted co-axially. That last one is a bit of an odd choice. Now, there have been a few semi-modern tanks that mounted an auto-cannon co-axially in the turret, notably the French AMX-30. But nothing to my knowledge ever mounted any caliber of Gatling gun in the turret. The main issues with this concept is space inside the turret. Its already at a premium with the main gun, armor, crew and ammunition in there; adding a bulky Gatling gun instead a normal auto-cannon is redundant since its fire-rate is probably going to be limited to below 1000 rpm so it doesn't chew through all its ammo in 6 1/2 seconds. And if that's the case, you're better off space wise going with a normal auto-cannon.

I'm not seeing very many viewports on this, or maybe they're just really small. We do atleast get a spotlight.

Driver's hatch in the hull and the commander+gunner's hatches in the turret lead me to believe it has a crew complement of 3-4.

And we have a fair array of stowage, maintenance hatches, panels, headlights and tow hooks.

FINAL SCORES

Credibility: 6/10 - r/NonCredibleDefence Approved

Coolness: 6/10 - Forest MultiCam

BONUS

Some nice AMX-30 Footage

[ausetkmt]

Image: courtesy of Ricky Codio/Ricky Codio Photography

“The creation of Black Music Month was the brainchild of Grammy Award winning songwriter/producer and one of the architects of The Sound of Philadelphia (TSOP) Kenny Gamble,” schools Dyana Williams, the music industry veteran and celebrity strategist. The songwriter/producer—along with his partner Leon Huff—has created countless classics, including “If You Don’t Know Me By Now,” originally recorded by Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes; “For the Love of Money” by The O’Jays; and Teddy Pendergrass’ “Turn Off the Lights.”

“When he established the Black Music Association in the late 1970s, we were a couple at that point; we had two children,” continues Williams, whose illustrious road to premier Black music advocate and tag as “the Mother of Black Music Month” began as a radio pioneer, holding her own on the airwaves during a time when women were woefully underrepresented.

It was a collective effort to that day on June 7, 1979 when President Jimmy Carter hosted the reception at the White House that made Black Music Month official. Williams, who played a critical role, describes it as “a coming together of various aspects of the music industry to celebrate and recognize this multibillion-dollar industry, not just the songwriters and the singers, people behind the scenes as well.” 

Williams' love of Black music, she shares, was sparked in her native New York City at a very early age. As a child, Williams learned how to dissect music. She grew up knowing where songs were recorded, who wrote them, who sang them, who played on them, who engineered them, who produced them and more. Later the daughter of Puerto Rican parents would mix and mingle with those same folks, even dating musicians as well as forming meaningful relationships with many other titans. City College of New York’s radio station WCCR gave her the first taste of what being a behind-the-scenes mover and shaker could be. 

“I was the music director. I had a jazz show, but I also availed myself of student funds to produce concerts to bring artists to the school,” she says. At a time when very few women were on the air, she took her cues from one legendary figure who is today best known for Mama, I Want To Sing!. “Vy Higginsen was on the radio at WBLS and she's the first Black woman that I listened to that inspired me to want to be on the radio,” shares Williams. 

Although radio no longer physically occupies as much of her time as it did throughout her life, even as she raised her three kids, Black music still keeps her busy. She is the president and founder of the International Association of African-American Music Foundation, which organizes conferences and educational symposiums as well as produces panels that communicate the vastness of Black music. In addition, IAAAM has honored many Black music greats, including Stevie Wonder, Patti LaBelle, Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis, Babyface and L.A. Reid. She’s also a board member of the Nashville-based National Museum of African American Music (NMAAM), which recently honored Missy Elliott. TV One fans also recognize her as a frequent and trusted contributor to the network’s acclaimed series Unsung.

Even as Williams enters her 70s later this year, advocating for Black music is a personal mission and calling from which she can’t retire. And for good reason. “Black music deserves champions and advocates, and that's what I see myself as,” she insists. “Black Music is American music created in this country and exported culturally, but also economically. We don't tend to think of it that way, but the reality is that Black music is big business. I'm talking about not millions of dollars, but billions of dollars. We are the trendsetters. We are the weathervane so to speak. We’re the taste. We’re the flavor all over the planet. It is us and I see myself as a person who uses her platform, whether it's social media, whether it is talking with [journalists] to spread the word about the magnificence, the viability, and the power of Black music.”

[thevindicativevordan]

Is there anything worthwhile to be gained from Superman: American Alien given the author?

Landis being a shithead and tainting American Alien absolutely sucks, because this is the book that actually did something interesting with the refrain that Superman "is just a guy".

If Superman is "just a guy" then we should let him be that, which is exactly what this story does. Clark gets angry, horny, sad, makes impulsive decisions that bite him in the ass, swears, drinks beer, fights with his friends, he acts like a normal American teenager rather than being a perfect angel. Underneath all that he's still recognizable as Superman, as a good guy trying to do right by others. Many takes on the character pay lip service to the idea of Clark being one of us, but still write him as this unimpeachable - downright corny if we're being honest - model of "traditional" values in a way that renders him unrelatable. Some people will earnestly claim that makes him charming, but I can't agree. Clark here is more personable and charming than Byrne or Loeb's country hick from 1950s America, and American Alien shows that being "retro" is not at all a required element for Superman to feel in-character. Being cool is not at odds with being Superman.

Additionally the focus of the book is on one of Superman's more unique characteristics, that he's not the product of a single moment or trauma, but rather a product of his upbringing. Here we see the individual lessons he learns that set him on the road to becoming Superman:

He's different from others, weird, but it's ok to be weird, and his family and friends love him regardless.

He has an obligation to help where he can, the classic Spider-Man "With Great Power..." teaching.

He can be himself, even when he's being someone else (and American Alien probably has my favorite take on the "Clark and Bruce look alike" gag).

Staying in Smallville his whole life isn't what he wants, he wants to see the world, to travel to interesting places and meet interesting people, to see the bigger picture.

Becoming a better version of himself is part of growing up, and if he doesn't use his gifts then he's wasting them. Especially because there are less scrupulous people out there who have no problem using their gifts to benefit only themselves.

There's room for more than one type of heroism. People can't just be intimidated into not being bad, they need to be inspired into doing good.

Being reckless and reacting emotionally only worsens the situation, but giving up isn't an option because the world needs heroes to give it hope that life can improve.

Superman changes the world simply by existing, and Clark's actions have impact beyond what he can see, so he needs to weigh his actions and consider what the repercussions of what he does are going to be for everyone else.

There are things and people out there capable of hurting even Superman, and he has to be prepared to face them.

Being the Last Son of Krypton doesn't mean he has to go through life alone.

Learning how to be Superman is a process that continues even after Clark has put on the suit and has started saving lives. For all his powers he struggles sometimes to grasp the scope of what he's trying to do, and his friends, family, and even enemies have to slap him upside the head to help him get perspective.

Great as it is, it's obviously not without flaws. Often you will have a character all but break the fourth wall to deliver a monologue on what Landis wants the reader to take away from each issue. Sometimes the panels are overstuffed with dialogue, Landis' background in writing for films hurting the flow of the pages. One issue has Clark burn the arms off a murderer accidentally, and that might be deal-breaker for some (I think getting shot in the face with a shotgun and being a young kid freaking out gives him some leeway, especially since the guy was a piece of shit). But it's all minor flaws at best for me, and I personally rate this alongside Secret Identity as one of the all time greatest Superman stories. Growing up is a journey everyone undergoes, with plenty of setbacks and stumbles along the way, and this story manages to capture that aspect in a way that dumps all over the notion that Superman can't be relatable. This take might lean more on the Everyman side of Superman being the Everyman+, but the core of what makes the character work is intact.

Wouldn't be right to not talk about the art which is crazy good, we'll probably never get to see most of these guys on a Superman ongoing or monthly. Nick Dragotta captures the excitement and terror of kid Clark learning to fly. Tommy Lee Edwards portrays a modern depiction of an American small town and the problems it faces. Joelle Jones gives us a sexy and funny Clark who knows how to party. Jae Lee's Metropolis is bright and sinister at the same time, a place where "visionaries" like Lex Luthor run the show. Francis Manupal paints a beautifully gloomy picture of Clark struggling to figure out how to handle supervillains. Jonathan Case brings a mixture of humor and heart to Clark reconnecting with old friends from Smallville. And Jocks brings it home by putting Clark through the ringer as he finds out what happened to his home planet and has to fight someone as strong as he is. All fantastic artists that turned in beautiful work, and the variant covers were gorgeous too!

If Landis hadn't been a creep, I think it's likely he would have gone on to be a big influence on Superman as a character, given how influential this story has been. Despite neither explicitly naming it as influence, to avoid giving Landis any credit or financial benefit he would be entitled to otherwise I'm sure, you would be hard-pressed to explain away the obvious connections between American Alien and the two new animated incarnations of Superman. My Adventures With Superman has an Asian Lois and a black Jimmy. Parasite and Lobo are the first proper supervillains that Superman in the Man of Tomorrow movie fights, and he even wears a version of the black proto-suit. Both focus on a young Superman just beginning his career as a hero, working as an intern for the Daily Planet, and figuring out what it really means to be Superman. American Alien's depiction of a more grittier, down on it's luck Smallville may also have influenced the take on the town in Superman & Lois. It's rare to see a new book come out and influence an 80+ year old character like that, especially with Superman where adaptions seem stuck to either Donner or Byrne as the main influence.

On the other hand it was likely a blessing in disguise that this is the only major work Landis will ever likely do with the character. His supposed plans for the sequel, Agent of Batman, do not sound appealing for me at all, frankly it sounds like a Dark Knight Strikes Again jumping of the shark. Let this stand as Landis' only work on the character, and let other works/media adaptions mine the best elements of it going forward. That's the best case scenario for me, and what I hope happens. If you're someone who doesn't mind separating the work from the author, or to be frank you just don't care, then by all means read it, because this is one of the best Superman stories.

[talentforlying]

@pulpnovels: ♬♬♬ — SONGS I LOVE

lightning field - sneaker pimps! i initially found this song for my star wars dnd character (lady-107 my beloved) and it's been living rent-free in my head ever since. it's very on par with constantine's simultaneous regret and lack of it when he inevitably sticks his nose where it doesn't belong and gets cosmic, karmic backlash for it: he always needs to know what's going on, no matter how ugly it is. he makes himself look at the worst that the world has to offer, even when he doesn't want to. and he's always got this inner monologue of 'should have left it alone, shouldn't have opened the door, should have asked the questions', but he just keeps doing it anyway, and he doesn't give a flying fuck about the consequences so long as he gets the answers he wants.

strike me down / better left it all unknown / strike me down / should have held it all alone / wash the questions off my hands / i'm the fate in no one's plans / strike me down / give it everything you've got

ballroom blitz - sweet! this has been my car ride scream-along song since i was a teenager, AND it's some quintessential rich-the-punk-era constantine to boot!! absolutely balls to the wall bar fight banger, with a flair of hellblazer unreality to taste. there's no meta for this one, other than a nod to the 2019 john constantine: hellblazer ending that's due to be continued in january, this is just a get-off-your-ass-and-dance classic.

oh yeah! it was electric / so frantically hectic / and the band started leaving / 'cause they all stopped breathing / yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah

war pigs - CAKE! this cover and t-pain's are two of my FAVORITE covers ever made, and i feel like assigning constantine the band that did short skirt / long jacket is simply the right thing to do. aside from the obvious political commentary that aligns beautifully with constantine's attitudes towards bloodthirsty politicians and war, it specifically makes me think about the early warning - how i learned to love the bomb storyline in hellblazer issues 25-26, where a dying country town of brainwashed people worship a nuclear warhead at the neighboring american missile base. there's some really fascinating commentary in that issue, and of course it ends tragically, but there's also a sick panel of constantine (who cannot drive) doing donuts in a parking lot with a hot-wired car blasting music at top volume. the lyrics are so well-aligned to the story that i'm almost certain this was their inspiration for that two-parter:

now in darkness, world stops turning / ashes where their bodies burning / no more war pigs have the power / hand of god has struck the hour

+ 3 songs: for pronsias cassidy, underrated love of my LIFE, fire in the empire - william crighton is always what plays in my head during his duel with jesse, and the lyrics remind me intensely of him waking up in the river in the comics after being turned, what with the 'iron tears' being blood. also, man catches fire in the sun, just seems to fit.

i was out where the straight road ends / red dust rises, mighty river bends / i lay down on the sand / fell into a dream / the earth and the crow appeared / with a beak of eyes filled with iron tears

for sly gould, because he is SO cool to me, con man - dispatch is the song i always thought of when i saw his promo pics! feels both sinister and playful in equal amounts, and i would love to see a scene where it's playing in the background while henry thomas walk into a room with that coin spinning over his fingers.

he's just another con man sitting on a hill / you see him at the bull fight, closest to the kill / he lives up in a tower, sells dreams to the poor / no matter how he gets 'em, he always wants some more

and for dan torrance, also the love of my life, thanatos - soap&skin gives me major doctor sleep vibes. not only does it nail the movie ending right in the heart, but i think it also kind of encapsulates his hopeless spiral at the top of the book, and the dark tint that his shine seems to have after the overlook. idk, to me this song feels like both a sunset and a sunrise, which both feel like doctor sleep danny to me.

torn open tomb / i fell in your / cold fission bomb / i fell in your war / ages of delirium / curse of my oblivion

[fashionbooksmilano]

Barry McGee

General Editor Germano Celant

Texts Germano Celant, Barry McGee

Preface by Miuccia Prada and Patrizio Bertelli

Publication Design Pierluigi Cerri with Dario Zannier

Fondazione Prada, Milano 2002, 316 pagine, 300 ill., 15x24cm, ISBN 9788887029222

euro 70,00

email if you want to buy : booksinprogressmilano@yahoo.it

Exhibition "Barry McGee" at the Fondazione Prada in Milan, 11 April - 9 June 2002

Intended specifically for the Fondazione Prada's space in Via Fogazzaro, this huge installation devised by McGee is entitled Today Pink (2002). This is entered through an unusual and decidedly bewildering passage, which, when one emerges, turns out to be the back of an overturned truck. In the exhibition space one finds oneself in a chaotic scene, consisting of abandoned vehicles covered with graffiti, figures painted on huge metallic or monochrome walls, and fragments of lighter, fluctuating objects. This is a world rich in signs and symbols that contain references to life in today's cities and are linked to images of American culture such as the large, enigmatic figure of a Native American painted upside down on a wall made of rusty iron sheets. As in the aftermath of a road accident, two abandoned vehicles invade the space. On their bodies the artist has painted his familiar faces, which, with their sad eyes, are a reminder of bowed, resigned humanity. The presence of this male figure is kind of like this everyman, and it's very specific to San Francisco, where there's a huge homeless population that everyone wants to be free of. The subject is to do with graffiti and the homeless kind of like an outcast, things that the city is trying to get rid of, or trying to hide, or pretending doesn't exist. On the walls, the dominant colour is red. This refers to a detail of the urban environment that has inspired the artist: In Chinatown in San Francisco the doors are painted red. They are great surfaces, they attract me a lot. Red is the colour of life.* Innumerable drawings appear on all the walls, following each other without a gap. Here the rapid gesture is interwoven with a clear, delicate line that depicts a world of images realized with a wide range of techniques (enamel, acrylics, spray paint, chalk and pencil): the result is a veritable crowd of human faces. Dominating the white space is a huge male figure with a childlike face: wearing black pants and a lightcoloured shirt, it has the severity and majesty of the Mexican murals. The intensity of the installation is reinforced by the presence of a bunches liquor bottles, used by McGee as supports for his paintings, together with a large number of miscellaneous multicoloured objects such as painted cases, road signs, table napkins, dry leaves, shop signs, panels, cast-off clothes and small drawings by the artist and by people dear to him.

24/07/23

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[twentyghosts]

Marvel Hallmark Holiday Fic Roundup

In years past I’ve been hit with inspiration to write holiday themed fics too late in the season for me to finish them before the holidays in question, leading me to post Christmas fics in January like clearance-sale chocolate Santas. This year I’m regifting aka reposting these holiday fics BEFORE the holidays. What a concept! Hope you enjoy these cheesy holiday tropes. (Or, thank you if you already enjoyed them in past Januarys.)

Make a Wish

Rating: Teen  Relationship: Bruce Banner/Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Bruce Banner/Pepper Potts/Tony Stark  Words: 64K  Summary: When college professor Bruce Banner asks tech billionaire philanthropist Tony Stark for a donation to fill Christmas wishes for teens in foster care Tony is happy to help–and to invite Bruce to a charity Mistletoe Ball. Sparks fly, but Bruce decides he’s not comfortable being in an open relationship that also includes Tony’s girlfriend, Pepper Potts. But Tony needs a date to a lot of charity galas that winter, and Pepper is a busy CEO. So Tony proposes a plan to Bruce: they can pretend to date for the month of December. It’s a win for everyone: Tony won’t have to go to those boring events alone, Bruce can use the media attention to highlight his under-valued charity, and they can part ways in January with no hard feelings.

Just kidding: of course they both catch real feelings for each other. Will they manage to work things out in time to have a happy new year, or is that just wishful thinking?

Evergreen Love

Rating: Teen Relationship: Bruce Banner/Tony Stark Words: 30K Summary: When Tony Stark runs off the road on his way home from a ski trip, he's taken in by Bruce Banner, the caretaker of a rural Christmas tree farm. Fortunately, they have immediate chemistry. Unfortunately, while Tony is snowed in and off the grid for the weekend, some unpleasant revelations about Stark Pharmaceuticals come to light.

Can Tony save his company, his reputation, and his budding romance before Christmas? Do bears shit in the woods? Are southern pine beetle infestations slowly expanding their territory due to climate change? (The answer to all of these is yes; you can ask Bruce about it.)

I'll Be Home for Christmas

Rating: Teen Relationships: Pepper Potts/Natasha Romanoff Words: 5k Summary: When a snowstorm grounds flights out of DC on Christmas Eve, Natasha manages to get the very last rental car. But when she hears a beautiful stranger pleading to get back to New York to spend Christmas with her daughter, Natasha offers her a ride. Unfortunately, conditions worsen and the pair decide to stop for the night. They're happy to get a hotel room, even if it only has one bed, and it turns out to be a very merry Christmas for all.

Snow Falls, Love Rises

Rating: Teen Relationships: Bruce Banner/Tony Stark Words: 35k Summary: Tony Stark’s ambitious new plan to convert all of his factories to manufacture solar panels and other green energy technologies causes some concern in the small town of Snow Falls, Ohio: the home of the StarKids toy factory. Despite the toy factory’s popularity, the town’s Green Party mayor, Bruce Banner, actually supports the solar panel initiative.

However, Bruce’s deputy mayor Darcy Lewis goes behind his back to invite Tony to be the grand marshal of the town’s annual Winter Joy Toy Parade, in an attempt to convince Tony to preserve the toy factory. Tony accepts, secretly hoping to use the event as an opportunity to reconnect with Bruce.

Unbeknownst to the citizens of Snow Falls, Bruce and Tony haven’t spoken to each other since their boarding school romance came to an abrupt end. Can their love be rekindled, or is it as dead as a string of vintage Christmas tree lights?